


The Nuclear Reaction

by Ziracona



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: (or elements of), Alternate Ending, Death, Gen, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Multi, Physical Disability, Psychological Trauma, Strong Language, Torture, Violence, War, lots of strong relationships, very intense violence death and death-like situations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-03-06 08:51:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 80,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13407723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ziracona/pseuds/Ziracona
Summary: Things always tended towards whatever endgame-goal Sole pursued; and with most of the enemies standing in his way dead, there was little left to worry about.  He'd spilled a lot of blood to get this far, and he was ready to spill as much more as it took.And now? Now he was so close. As he saw it, there was only one little thing left in his way--Deacon, the last member of the Railroad--and he was closing in on him.  His relentless hunt through the Commonwealth wilds was almost up.  And once that was taken care of, well...  The future had always been solidly up to Sole.  It would be time to end old things, and begin something new. Just one last throat to cut.But then, not even the most powerful man is a god; and in this world, there's always the possibility of a future left up to someone else.





	1. Chapter 1

 

Sole stood up slowly and surveyed the skyline. It was early morning, and the soft yellows and crisp golds still hung on the edge of the horizon. He stretched and looked down again, at the faint depression in the ground.

It had been two weeks since Sole had walked into Railroad HQ and killed everyone there.  The mission hadn’t been hard.  HQ really only ever had a handful of people in it—PAM, Carrington, Des, Tom, Glory, Drummer Boy, Mr. Tims, maybe two or three others.  He could have brought synths with him and stormed the place, but he’d taken point alone.  Surprise was an edge he’d gotten used to using, and he’d wielded it well. 

Though, to be fair, X6-88 and a few relayed Gen 1s had been useful once he really got down to it. Not necessary, but useful.

That wasn’t to say it hadn’t been a fight.  They were a stubborn group, and Glory in particular had been difficult stomp out.  He was a good strategist, and she’d been his logical first shot for a backstabbing, but somehow she’d gotten back up from what he had been so sure was a headshot and survived a second hail of bullets.  Nothing he hadn’t been able to handle, though.  Any of them.  And after, the Institute had wanted to move on taking out the Brotherhood almost immediately.  Sole had been more than ready.  He’d cut ties with the Brotherhood when he joined the Railroad, over a year ago.  It had been surprisingly easy to take out the Prydwin.  Everything had gone according to plan, from mission to mission, start to finish.  Well.  Almost everything. 

The only problem in all of this was Deacon.  He’d been off on some damn mission when Sole had paid his final visit to HQ, and now Sole had been stuck scouring the commonwealth for two weeks looking for him.

Sole’s fingers traced the impression, trying to force the tech in his helmet to give him a more dependable reading on who’d left the footprint, when, on anything at all useful.

Deacon.  Deacon was smart, and more than that, he was really damn good at hiding.  Sole had used everything he’d had at his disposal—and he meant everything.  He’d sent synth patrols to scour the countryside, reached out to Institute informants all over the commonwealth, laid traps, he’d even dispatched X6-88 and twelve other coursers to handle matters in that singularly-focused courser way, but it hadn’t gotten him anywhere.  Hell, he’d gone so far as to ask some old friends for information; but he’d been able to tell from the look on Nick Valentine’s face that the only information regarding Deacon that he was going to pass on were warnings to, not sightings about.  He’d known that was probably how it was going in, and that had been fine.  He’d left a Courser to track Nick, in case he did decide to try contacting Deacon. 

Sole stood up and started walking, resting his gun in a more comfortable position against his forearm.  He was so tired of this. 

Two weeks. Two weeks and 108 possible sightings, but nothing solid.  What was more worrying was that Sole knew how capable Deacon was.  He didn’t seem to know it, but he _was_ the backbone of the railroad.  And he was probably out for blood.

Sole paused to look down into the stream he was passing.  Fresh water.  Well, Commonwealth fresh.  Deacon probably had his own ways of finding water though.

Sole looked at his reflection.  A full suit of specialized body armor and ventilated helmet, supplying him with his own air looked back at him.  Not that Deacon was that big of a threat, but poison sounded like a very Deacon idea, and it paid to be careful with him.  Even if he was alone, and on the last leg of a desperate bid for survival.

His Pip-Boy constantly passed Sole information, scanning the environment for any sign of hostiles, and the rhythmic “beep” of “nothing there” had become part of the background of his thoughts at this point.  He’d been on his feet for almost thirteen hours, searching for Deacon after picking up a tip from Carla.  Yet, nothing.  No trace of Deacon.

Sole let out a long held sigh and cracked his stiff neck as he moved through a particularly dense patch of tree-husks.  He needed a break from this hunt.  It was getting annoying.  It shouldn’t be this hard to track down the last member of a tiny group of unorganized civilians.  Sole stumbled mid-crack as a rifle went off.  Sole felt the bullet ping off his helmet, forcing him off balances backwards.  As he fell back the thought hit him.  Shit, shit, if he hadn’t cracked his neck, that shot would have gone right into the tiny chink between the helmet and chest, and straight through his throat.

In that same instant, Sole’s feet found traction and braced him against the fall, and his gauss rifle was out, and trained on the spot the shot had come from.  He fired off six shots before he actually saw Deacon, sixty yards away and diving behind a fence for cover.  That had been one hell of a shot he’d almost made.

Sole cursed and swung the rifle up, feet digging into the soft earth as he tore off after Deacon.  Deacon was gone, but he could still make him out on the scanner feed in his helmet, rocketing southwest at an incredible pace for someone on foot.  Sole grit his teeth and kept going, racing southwest as fast as possible.  If Deacon’s speed had been uncanny, Sole’s lightweight armor was nearly unbelievable, propelling him forward at twice his regular speed.  By the time Deacon passed the approaching tree line, Sole was steadily gaining ground.  As Sole broke out of the woods he finally caught sight of Deacon again—much closer this time, with his own rifle scope trained on the woods.  Four more shots slammed into Sole’s helmet, which took the punishment without even denting.  Sole fired off a few shots in return, and Deacon retreated from the gauss blasts, towards the edge of a nearby dam.  Sole could hear him firing now, even over the roar of the churning water below them. 

Sole slid through the mud and took shelter behind a chunk of the dam’s concrete remains to holster the gauss rifle and replace it with the modified Fat Man slung over his shoulder. Counting the seconds under his breath, Sole loaded the projectiles with an unwavering purpose.  It shot eight shells at once.  This was the first time he’d seen Deacon in two weeks, and he wasn’t about to chase him around for another two.

Sole moved from his cover and received three shots right in the neck.  That little fucker was way too good at sniping.  It brought the frustration that had been bubbling deep in his chest for weeks to the surface as a purified mountain of fury.  He could feel the second and third shots a little through the armor and stumbled back, short of breath and coughing for three precious seconds as his airway took the damage.  Deacon was close enough to him now that Sole saw his expression behind the sunglasses change at sight of the modified Fat Man.  He only had seconds to react before Sole recovered and pulled the trigger, but Sole could tell he was making a desperate dash for the edge of the dam before he lost sight of Deacon in the massive explosions that accompanied shelling someone with eight mini nukes.

Sole was a little too close himself, and the force of the blast knocked him back a few feet, slamming him into the concrete he’d taken shelter behind seconds before.  A chunk of metal rod embedded in the concrete caught him in the back, denting his armor and knocking the breath out of him.  He was glad his mask had its own oxygen supply, because he couldn’t see anything through hail of the smoke and fire, and he was damn sure he wouldn’t have been able to do anything but cough on the ground if it wasn’t for the helmet.

Dazed, Sole dragged himself unsteadily to his feet and stumbled to the edge of the dam, gauss rifle back out.  He checked the scope shakily, scanning the waters below for any sign of Deacon.  Chunks of driftwood were on fire and the smoke made it impossible to see much of anything for a minute, but as the smoke cleared he saw a human figure floating near the left band, back up.  Even partially submerged and at a distance, Sole recognized the back of Deacon’s chest armor.  But he wasn’t taking any chances.

Sole reloaded the Fat Man and fired two more shells at the body, careful to step back this time as the explosion blossomed up past him, then hurried down the slope to confirm his kill.

His foot slipped on the muddy, burning slope and Sole cursed, stumbling and sliding unsteadily the last fifteen feet down the hill.  God damn Commonwealth mud.  He threw out his arms for balance and skidded to a stop ten feet away from the body.  He took out his gauss rifle and fired another six shots into the unmoving remains of what he could see of Deacon’s back.  The body and surrounding turf were still on fire and the smoke made it hard to see clear to what was left of him. 

Sole carefully moved against the dam’s wall, over towards the remains.  He was practically on top of the body before he could see it well enough to realize his mistake.  Deacon had abandoned his armor.

A sharp pain shot through Sole’s back as the bayonetted end of a hunting rifle found the chink in his back armor caused by the Fat Man’s recoil.  Sole felt the blade slicing through tissue and screamed with pain.  He turned his head.  Everything felt like it had slowed.  He could see Deacon behind him.  He’d somehow crawled inside some tiny pipe in the wall of the dam to hide.  He was half in, half out now; desperately trying to make it the rest of the way out and shove the end of his bayonetted rifle deeper into Sole’s armor without falling on his face or losing his grip on the gun.  God damn it, he should have known Deacon would pull a stupid stunt like this!  Sole desperately reached for the blade with his free hand and tried to tear it out from its awkward angle, but Deacon slammed it in deeper, and Sole felt something in his chest split open in a way he could only describe as terrifying in a cold, still, deadly way.  More frantic, Sole tore again with all his might at the bayonet as he felt it dig deeper into him, but it had become wedged between his armor plates, and as he struggled with them the PipBoy on his arm screamed a warning. It took Sole a second to register the red text displaying across his visor: “83% chance of organ failure due to blood loss imminent if foreign object removed.”  Even though Sole couldn’t get traction on the blade, it took all the willpower he had to listen to the computer on his arm and not try to rip the nasty thing out of his back. 

Sole was engulfed in a sudden, uncontrollable frustration. “Fuck!” the shout exploded on impulse as he angrily let go of the bayonet.  Behind him, Deacon looked up in he thought maybe surprise.  He should have known! He should have fucking known! Deacon always did this kind of shit! They’d been hunting a group of Raiders in a department store awhile back, chased a straggler into a back room and opened a door on five with power armor.  Deacon’s initial response had been to close the door.  They’d been low on ammo, so when they’d managed to gain a little distance running for their lives, Deacon had convinced him to pose as a mannequin until the group had gone past.  It was the kind of foolhardy shit you’d never expect someone to be dumb enough to try, so it usually worked.  Now wasn’t the time for memories, though. Deacon only had a foot left in the pipe which meant he was about to be a big threat but right now, he was off balance and still clinging to that rifle with a death grip, and that was the only advantage Sole had.

Sole pivoted, swinging himself forward, wrenching Deacon’s foot out of the pipe and sending him flying over Sole’s shoulders, onto the hard ground, rifle-less.  Sole stumbled forward, thanking god the bayonet had been wedged in as hard as it had as he tried to regain his balance.  The armor was still firmly keeping the bayonet in place, but that had hurt like hell, and the rifle’s weight wasn’t helping.

Just gonna have to take it, Sole thought as he winced and pushed himself the rest of the way up and took aim with his gauss rifle, trying to find a center of balance that worked with a rifle sticking out of your back.

Deacon had managed to stumble to his feet as well.  He was singed and a little cut up.  He’d lost his sunglasses when he hit the ground, and his eyes were dark rimmed and worn, but still that focused steel blue.  He looked exhausted, sick, and tired, hollow cheeks and shallow breathing, but when he saw Sole’s gauss rifle, the look in his eyes got even darker than before.

It had been Desdemona’s gun.  Sole had taken it after he’d finished off the Railroad.  Modified it a little.  It was a good gun.  But for some reason, his fingers were tripping over it, trying to hold it steady and aim.  He saw the stealth boy too late.  Deacon vanished a second before he managed to find his balance.  Sole pulled the trigger but he knew the shot missed before it left the gun.  He swung the rifle to where Deacon had been and fired, watching as the blast passed through the air he’d just been in and kept going.  Something primal took over and Sole started firing wildly, spinning in every direction, hoping one of the hundred shots would find its mark.  Finally he paused for a second, breathing hard, wildly scanning the terrain.  He tried to steady himself.  The stealth boy would run out any second.  Deacon was about to be out of options, and to have not been hit by any of those shots, he must have retreated.  Or maybe Sole had hit him, and—

A bullet slammed into the weak spot in the oxygen tube connected to Sole’s helmet.  Sole looked down in shock to see Deacon suddenly rematerialize, in the exact same spot he’d been standing when he vanished—only, he was on the ground on his belly, holding a handgun.  The god damn bastard hadn’t run, he hadn’t done anything at all!  He’d just fallen on the ground and waited while Sole exhausted his clip at chest height.

Sole didn’t have a chance to think more about it, because the oxygen shut off in his helmet, and suddenly he was staggering back, gasping for air.  Shit, he was going to suffocate in a matter of seconds if he couldn’t get the thing off, but if he took it off, Deacon would have a clean headshot.

Feverously, Sole aimed at Deacon and let shot after shot off.  Deacon rolled to the side and was up and running.  Sole struggled to shoot one handed while dragging his helmet off with his free hand.  Deacon had almost reached cover when a blast from Sole’s gun caught him in the side and he cried out, the force of the blast slamming him against the chunk of concrete he’d been trying to make it behind.  Stunned, a smoking crater in his side, Deacon looked up at him as Sole leveled his gun and fired.  Blurry vision or not, he couldn’t miss a shot like that.  And he didn’t. But he didn’t hit Deacon either. He looked down in dismay to see an empty chamber.

Sole cursed and tossed the gun down, pulling out his pistol.  Deacon was up again now, moving slower. He almost made it behind the chunk of concrete, but Sole caught him with a bullet as he collapsed behind the cover.  Sole couldn’t tell where he’d hit him, he was fading fast himself.

His vision started to go dark and Sole let go of his pistol and struggled with the helmet with both hands, finally managing to wrench it off.  He tossed it to the side and fell to his knees, coughing and gasping uncontrollably. 

For a few seconds, he had no choice but to obey his lungs’ burning need for oxygen, but as soon as he could move, his fingers found the pistol and he was stumbling up again, holding the pistol and desperately scanning the terrain.  He fixed his gaze on the concrete chunk Deacon had disappeared behind.  He had taken his eyes off it for a few seconds when he went down, but no way in hell Deacon had had time to move—right?  God damn it!  With no helmet, one headshot was all it would take to…

Sole backed up, trying to keep his cool.  He checked his clip.  He’d lost his ammo bag somewhere—when?  He had the sudden sinking feeling it had been back up the hill, when the Fat Man blast had knocked him back.  Wherever it was, it didn’t matter, it was too late to go back for it.  He had his pistol, and that was it.  Shit.

He forced himself to focus, breathe as evenly as he could.  Slowly, Sole made his way to the concrete Deacon had disappeared behind, gun up and at the ready, tense and ready to snap.  He moved into sight quickly behind the concrete, ready to use his last few shots, only to find nothing but a puddle of blood.

Anywhere.  Fucking damn it.  Deacon could be anywhere.  This was bad.  Very, very bad.

For the first time in a long time, Sole felt a familiar feeling wash over him. 

Fear.

He took a step back and turned quickly, trying to look everywhere at once, seeing movement in too many direction all at once and nothing substantial at all in any all. Then, slowly, it dawned on him. 

The panic that had been building up in his chest slowed.  He’d been disoriented for at least ten seconds.  He’d had little cover since taking off the helmet.  And Deacon—Deacon had somehow used nosediving off a dam to avoid mini nukes as a prime battle tactic.  He’d taken one stealthboy and a single shot from a handgun and ruined Sole’s armor.  But all these chances just now, and Sole was still alive.  Deacon hadn’t killed him.  Sole grinned.

“Well, Deacon. Not looking so good for me. All you need is one clean head shot, right?”  Sole lowered his gun and extended his arms, slowly turning in a circle.  “Go on, then. Take it.” 

Silence wafted over the riverside, replacing the constant hail of bullets and pounding of his heart in Sole’s own ears.  He smiled again and slowly lowered his arms.  “That’s what I thought. You’re out of bullets.”  Sole began to adjust his PipBoy, and his breathing slowed to its normal pace.  “It’s not going to take much time for VATS to locate you.  And when it does...” He let the sentence trail off and stepped behind the concrete again, slowly moving forward, following the trail of blood, focused now.  He must’ve hit Deacon pretty badly, he was leaking a lot of blood.  Even Deacon couldn’t have gotten far after taking a hit like that.

 “It’s over, Deacon.  They’re dead.  Railroad’s finished.  You can’t change that.”  Sole rounded the far corner and watched the blood trail turning a darker shade of red as it snaked towards some larger concrete slabs straight ahead.  “Well, you did always say their number would be up someday.”

There was a sound behind Sole and he whipped around, pistol at eye level.

Nothing greeted him, just the wind and his own little trail of blood.  Sole narrowed his eyes, and turned back to Deacon’s blood, a little more careful this time.  “You’re the last one standing, Deacon.  And we both know you were never really the kind who could carry that torch alone,” Sole reached a new chunk of concrete and checked behind it. Deacon had been there, but he’d kept going—shit that was a lot of blood.  How was he walking?  Made himself move faster too, the puddles were further apart.  “You, uh,” Sole continued, a little distracted “did say you felt like you didn’t really belong, and lets face it, you were right—I mean, you brought me into the fold, didn’t you?”

Something to his left cracked and Sole paused, listening carefully as he slowly turned towards the sound.  “Look, Deacon—buddy.  We were friends, weren’t we?”  He took a few steps towards the source of the sound, careful, slow, like he was approaching a wild animal. “Doesn’t have to end like this. You put up a good fight—better than the rest, but you’re backed into a corner, out of shots, hurt.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Sole caught a tiny pool of red creeping past the bottom of a chunk of concrete just to the right of the source of the sound.  A smile flickered across his lips, then he kept going towards the sound as if he hadn’t seen a thing.  “You could run,” his voice was almost friendly.  “Leave the Commonwealth.  Go and never come back—I won’t follow,” as he passed the chunk of bloody concrete, Sole spun on a dime and whipped around to face it, gun raised, finger on the trigger. 

But the hiding place was empty, nothing but blood.  He frowned.

Suddenly Sole heard a deafening roar and something exploded inside of him.  He felt like his lungs had shattered, his scream mixing with the sound of the gunshot as he looked down at his chest.  The armor was cracked open from the inside, blood leaking out, and then he was coughing blood.

Behind him, Deacon took his finger off the trigger of the rifle which still stuck out of Sole’s back.

“Now I’m out of shots.” came his shitty reply.

Sole turned on his heel and emptied his pistol clip in a rage.  Deacon closed the small distance between them as the first shot went off and grabbed for his hand, and somehow neither of them ended up with the pistol, and it went skidding into the river.

Grappling up close, Sole could finally see Deacon well.  He had been right, Deacon looked sick, and like he hadn’t slept in two weeks.  He probably hadn’t.  The gauss rifle had left a burning crater in Deacon’s side, and the pistol had caught Deacon between his shoulder and neck.  He was losing blood fast.  Of course, so was Sole.  He wasn’t honestly sure which was in worse shape.

Fists and knees and elbows collided in close quarters for a few seconds, then the two pushed apart and caught their breath, only a foot or two between them, while they surveyed their respective opponent.

Sole and Deacon went for their knives at practically the same moment.  Sole recognized the one Deacon drew.  He’d gotten it from Glory—a curved and wicked sharp, nasty thing—he’d seen it cut more than its fair share of throats.  And Deacon recognized Sole’s.  He couldn’t tell from Deacon’s expression, but there was a little flicker of something in his eyes when Sole pulled it out.  It had been Deacon’s knife.  They’d been running an op not too long after Sole had joined the Railroad, when Deacon had pulled him behind cover just in time to avoid having his head blown off, and casually handed the thing to him, as if they weren’t in the middle of a firefight. 

“That guy had a really nice piece, and you don’t have one.  If you ever want to try, you know, sneaking up on people—instead of running right at them, screaming and waving your arms, something like this will come in handy.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then before you die it’ll come in handy when you accidentally step on a raider you didn’t see, or someone tries to stab you in the back.”

It had come in handy.  And it was about to again.  It had a longer reach than Deacon’s knife, too.

One more second to assess their opponents. Both men held almost perfectly still, watching each other, waiting for a tell that would give away their enemy’s opening move.  Waiting for a chance.

Suddenly, there was a change in Deacon’s face. A pause, a weariness.  He started to say something and then stopped, then started again.

“Why? Why did you tur—“

Sole knew how the question would end, only it didn’t.  Halfway through his fifth word, Deacon lunged at Sole, catching him off guard.  He managed to parry the blade away from his gut, but it dug deep into his thigh, between armor plates.  He slammed his elbow into Deacon’s chest and made a swipe at his throat.  Deacon moved and the blade whistled harmlessly past him.

Parry, thrust, stab, recoil, and Sole was losing. 

_What do I do?  I can’t be losing this, he doesn’t even have armor on—_

The thought was interrupted by Deacon’s knife hitting Sole’s chest.  It hit a patch of undamaged body armor and was deflected, but Deacon managed to sideswipe Sole’s arm as he parried another swing from him.

There had to be something he could do, something…

The last time he’d run with Deacon, maybe a month ago, they’d been fighting Gunners.  They’d been deep in a warehouse, when he’d walked into a trap.  The fragmentation grenades would have taken his head clean off, but Deacon had knocked him out of the way at the last second, barely flinging them both behind a counter in time.  The blast hadn’t hurt him, but it had ruptured Deacon’s right eardrum pretty badly.  May it was still…

Sole used all the strength he had left to slam his left knee into the inside of Deacon’s right knee, knocking him off balance.  With one hand, he swung his knife for Deacon’s chest.  Deacon caught the knife with his own and held him off, but thoroughly preoccupied, he didn’t see Sole’s hand shoot out until it was too late.  He slammed the flat of his hand into Deacon’s right ear as hard as he could, and Deacon let out a cry, stumbling back.  It was the opening sole needed.  He raked his knife across Deacon’s chest, leaving a deep gash.  Deacon fell backwards to his knees.  Sole was relentless, diving forward, going for his throat.  At the last second, Deacon managed to catch the knife in his bare left hand.  The blade sliced right through tissue and bone, almost cutting the hand in half.  Another instant, and Sole was on top of Deacon, using his knees to pin his arms down.  He applied crushing force to Deacon’s right wrist until he heard it snap, forcing Deacon to release the knife.

Deacon was breathing shallowly now, blood oozing up through his chest, draining his life out.

Sole was breathing hard.  Over.  He’d finally done it.  Caught the last member of the Railroad.  And he could finally end them.

Blood dripped from Deacon’s bad ear.  He looked up at Sole through worn eyes, full of anger and hate.  Sole had expected that.  But there was something else there he hadn’t expected.  Anguish.  The pain was etched across his face.  He’d been sent off on a mission, and returned to find his partner had executed every last one of his friends, and was coming for him.  Sole knew how Deacon would see that, and had known he’d come after him.  He just hadn’t expected him to look so.  Sad.

He didn’t say anything.  He didn’t ask why.  He didn’t tell him he’d see him in hell.  He didn’t even tell him to end it.  He just…looked at him, left eye beginning to bruise, blood trickling from his bad ear.  He just looked.

Sole hadn’t thought he would care, but for some reason, it bothered him.  He knew that look.  He’d seen it on Piper’s face when she’d learned what he’d done to the Railroad.  He’d seen shadows of it on Nick’s face, before he’d closed his expression off. 

Why did he care that he was seeing it on Deacon.

He was going to kill him.  He knew that, in an unwavering certainty.

But for just a second he let himself remember. 

He remembered stepping into their base for the first time, Nick Valentine in tow, and being greeted by Glory with a minigun.  Deacon stepping in, vouching for him, for some reason.

What had been the first thing he’d said to him?  “I’d take it as a personal favor if you didn’t betray us to the institute”?  Well, how was that for ironic.  Deacon, all bravado and bullshit, about being a synth, the leader of the Railroad.

And then, there had been the slightly more useful information.  Sole actually remembered to scope out an area for snipers now.  There’d been that one time Deacon had been almost serious, down in the subway, back when he was trying to figure out who Sole was. “There're other organizations out there. And, in time, I'm sure they're going to spoon-feed you their own patented form of bullshit. Ignore the verbiage and look at what they're doing. What they're asking you to do. What sort of world they'd have you build and how they're going to pay for it."  Not bad at making speeches, Deacon. 

Well, he had.  Sole had kept his eyes wide open.  During scrapes with Deacon.  Working with Glory.  When he saw Desdemona’s face disappear as he stepped onto the molecular transducer.  When he’d met his son.

He knew why he was doing what he was doing, he knew who he was.  His son, his family.  This was for him—for the future of humanity.  The Railroad, Deacon, they couldn’t be made to understand.  You have to make sacrifices.  There will always be collateral damage.

He’d heard that before, too.  Not from Deacon.  His son’s voice played in his head, saying those words: “ _collateral damage”_.  Nora.

But this—this was different—his future.  The future of the world.  No regrets, no reservations.  The right way.

And yet, for just one second, Sole hesitated.

Deacon didn’t.

He wrenched his left arm free and flung the blood oozing from the nearly amputated appendage into Sole’s eyes.

Sole recoiled on instinct, blinded, freeing Deacon’s other hand, which managed to get ahold of his knife.  He could barely swing it, with his broken wrist, but the arc managed to cut just deep enough to open Sole’s jugular, letting his remaining life spill out across his chest, and Sole fell forwards onto Deacon’s left arm, his eyes open wide in surprise.  Dead.

Deacon watched him for a second, blood still oozing from his chest, then slowly let his head rest back onto the ground.  His breathing shallow and rattling, he looked up at the grey Commonwealth sky.  He could feel the blood pooling around him as his life seeped out into the ground.

That was alright. 

He’d done the only thing he could do.  He’d known when he joined the Railroad that he was never going to finish atoning for what he’d done.  He just hadn’t expected he’d be able to owe so much more when he left than when he joined.  In the end, he’d been right.  He really was the worst thing that had ever happened to the Railroad.  They’d taken him in, and he’d managed to get every last one of them killed.

And that was his fault. His alone.

He’d avenged them, but it wasn’t enough.  He’d knew that nothing he could have ever done would have been good enough.  Not to fix this—not this time.  This wasn’t something a person could make up for.  But at least—at least he was taking that bastard to hell with him.

He wished, he really wished, that that thought was comforting.

“Sorry Des,” he whispered.  “Looks like you were right about me.”

He wanted to think of all of them, Glory.  Desdemona.  Tom.  Even Carrington.  Like they were his family, but he couldn’t—shouldn’t.  They weren’t…they weren’t his anymore.  Any more than Barbara was.  At least…at least they had gone out together.  And…they all had people waiting for them…to greet them where they were going.

His vision and thoughts began to blur and fade as one.  He faintly felt Glory’s knife in his fingers, and slowly, agonizingly, he dragged it onto his chest and let his hand rest on top of it.  He took a ragged breath and closed his fingers around the metal.  “You…Rest easy.”

The words were so faint he was the only one who could possibly have heard them.

Deacon shut his eyes.  He was losing his ability to feel, the blood, the ache in his ear, even the cold.  _I’m sorry._ He was always sorry.  He always would be, now.  They were all he had left, but they weren’t much in the way of last words.  Not when there was no one left to hear them. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Preston Garvey stumbles onto the scene of Sole's fight, Deacon gets a second chance he doesn't want, and Preston has to decide how to move forward.

Preston Garvey walked down the old road.  It was cracked and worn down, like any other road through the Commonwealth.  Preston liked Commonwealth roads.  He could follow the cracks in the pavement and his thoughts would wind along with them.  It was something to focus on when you wanted to let your mind wander.  Stair straight ahead, follow the cracks as they spiderweb, and think.  Think calmly, think long, think hard.  Don’t rush it.  Be careful, make the wise decision.

He had to focus, to keep things under control, to be rational.  This could spiral out of control so fast.  But keeping a level head wasn’t always easy.  It hadn’t been easy in Quincy, or Concord, and it wasn’t easy now.

The General.

He didn’t want to think about it, but he had to.  Were they doing the right thing?  For the Commonwealth?

Standing with the Institute?  He’d never really believed all the stories about the Institute, sure, but…

But.

He’d been hearing things.  Some of them for a long time, like about the Railroad.  He’d always sort of thought it was a nice idea, helping synths escape to freedom.  Sure, he wasn’t really sure where machine ended and person started, but did it matter that much exactly?  Seemed like there wasn’t really any difference between them and human besides opinion.  If something wanted to be free, why not let it?  It seemed like a good enough reason to him.

He’d known Deacon before he’d met the General.  More like met…crossed paths.  Deacon didn’t like the Minutemen for some reason, and enjoyed bringing that up.  Maybe he only liked synths, who knew.  But for whatever reason, he always gave Preston a hard time.  He didn’t really care if Deacon thought he was idealistic.  Deacon was small minded and tunnel visioned if he didn’t think the Minutemen were doing good in the world.

So then, it wasn’t that he liked Deacon or anything personal, and he’d never had much to do with the other members of the Railroad, but.

When he’d heard that the General had gone to their HQ and attacked them he’d felt.  Sick.  It might have been different under different circumstances but—the General had been a member.  Preston had been in there once with him, met some of the others.  One of them had recognized him and given him a few caps for the Minuteman cause.  They were…just people.  Trying to do something good.  And they’d been Sole—the General’s friends.  And the General had killed them all.

He’d heard it from Piper.  He knew it was true, then.  Piper had been with the General for half a year now, and he knew she loved him.  She would have never, ever made something like that up.  She had been sure, too.  Barely hanging on through the knowledge.  He hadn’t known how to help her.  Just stood there and put a hand on her shoulder and wished he knew what to do.

Preston shook his head and re-focused on the patterns of the road.  What was he supposed to do?  Just…Go along with it?  It might be his only option, as messed up as this all was.  If the Institute was really as powerful as all that, and the General was siding with them.  Then maybe he had to play along?  It might be the only way to protect the people of the Commonwealth.  If they backed the Institute, the General would keep them safe, wouldn’t he?  The Minutemen might be rebuilding, but there was no way they could survive a full-scale assault from the Institute.  And with the Brotherhood destroyed and the Railroad taken out...  Well, he was the only thing between the Institute and the Minutemen—the rest of the Commonwealth—and even if it made him sick, he had to play his cards carefully…had to tread carefully…had to…

Preston was focused on the path ahead of him, the pavement coming up to meet his feet.  He wasn’t the first one to spot the damage.

A Minuteman named Shora, taking the far-right guard, was the one to spot it first.

“Sir!  There’s something on fire up ahead.”

Preston lifted his head and focused on the patch of ground Shora was pointing to.  Something was on fire.

“Come on!” He called over his shoulder to the Minutemen behind him.

Preston took off at a sprint and didn’t slow down until he reached the smoldering remains of a patch of underbrush and what had once been trees.  It was like someone had shot off an entire arsenal of missiles at the edge of this dam.  He looked down to his right, at the faintly churning waters bellow him.  Something was on fire down there, too.  It looked like the remains of another explosion.  Something big, like a mini-nuke.

A Fat Man?

“Someone’s down there.”

Preston looked over to see one of the Minutemen pointing to something down the slope.  Through the lumps of concrete and skeletal trees, Preston could just make out what looked like part of a human body.

Preston vaulted over the concrete railing and skidded down the slope, stumbling to a sudden stop when he reached the bottom. 

“My god.” Preston breathed the words out quietly.  There was carnage everywhere.  Blood spattered the stones and downtrodden patches of grass.  Scorch marks and another swath of blood marked a chunk of concrete nearby.  Bullet casings near his foot glinted in the sunlight.  None of that mattered much though, because two human figured were collapsed on the ground, inches from each other.  And Preston recognized one of them instantly.  He opened his mouth to say it, but one of the other Minutemen beat him to it.

“The General!”

Preston was by the General’s side in an instant, on his knees, reaching out to check his pulse.  There was no reason to finish the movement.  A chunk of the General’s throat had been sliced open, and there was no question he was dead.

Preston looked over at the other figure.  A man.  And he—Deacon?

Preston leaned over, letting go of the General’s hand, to move closer.  It was definitely him.  He looked dead.  Preston tentatively leaned over and reached out a hand out to picked up the pair of cracked black sunglasses that lay on the grass a few feet away from the still form.  He bent over and held the broken glass up to Deacon’s mouth and watched carefully.  Preston released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding when he saw a faint patch of condensation from a weak breath fog up the glass.

“Sir?”

He looked up to see one of his soldiers looking down at him. Another two were kneeling by him and the General.

Preston looked at the bloody knife near Deacon’s still hand.

“The General’s dead, and this man is dying!  I’ve seen this sort of damage before—it’s probably Gunners.  Fan out, but stay in groups!  Try and catch up with them, at least find out which way they went!  Andrews, get all the medical supplies you can and help me.  Everyone else, go!”

He saw them hesitate for a second, the three close enough to really have seen the carnage.  They looked at each other, at the scene, at Preston.  One of them almost spoke.  But then they were up and moving.  They’d just misunderstood.  Gunners, and they had to hurry or they would get away.

Preston hadn’t even realized he’d been making a decision when the words had come out.  As he heard the shouts and hurried footsteps disappearing into the distance, he was hit with a surge of doubt.

What was he doing?  The General, his friend—his commanding officer!  And Deacon was…Deacon had—he…

Preston looked down at him.  His face was worn and haggard.  He saw the blood trickling from his right ear.  He remembered the General telling him about that fight he’d had, and how Deacon had pulled him out of the way and taken a hit.  It had become a habit with Sole to tell him stories like that until a few weeks ago.  Back when he’d started, the General had been trying to subtly trick him into liking Deacon more.  Well, it hadn’t been very subtle, but he supposed it had worked.  Deacon must have reinjured the ear.  …Yeah, sure.

Everything the General had done…And Deacon…his people, to be betrayed and massacred like that…

Yeah, yeah he could imagine. And he couldn’t pretend he didn’t know why the General had been out here.  Old memories. 

_God Damn it._ He was being an idiot for questioning his gut.  He just had to hope the moment of indecision hadn’t cost Deacon his life.

Andrews was back at his side in a second, medical kit in hand.

“Okay, keep pressure on that chest wound.  It’s the worst of it.”  Andrews pulled out a stimpack and plunged it into Deacon’s chest.  The things were amazing.  Preston could feel Deacon’s chest pulling itself back together beneath his hands.  He watched as torn and smoldering tissue fell off and new tissue grew and re-molded itself, stitching his side back together.  Should have felt miraculous but it was some kind of horrifying.  He was going to have a hell of a scar.  “Okay,” Andrews continued.  “He’s in bad shape.  That’ll stop the bleeding, but he’s already lost a tremendous amount of blood.  We need to get him more.  Do you know his type?”

Preston shook his head.  Something to the side caught his eye, and his vision came to rest on the General’s wrist.  “No, but I have an idea.”

Preston unhooked the PipBoy and carefully attached it to Deacon’s right arm.  He winced when he picked up the limp hand and saw how bad the break in the wrist was.  The joint had been crushed.  Stimpack hadn’t even touched it.

Preston turned the PipBoy on and worriedly watched as the screen flickered to life.  He’d never actually used—even touched—one of these things before.  He bit his lip in concentration and started navigating screens.

“Got it! A negative!” He called to Andrews.  The boy nodded and began digging through his bag.  He pulled out a blood pack.

“We’re in luck.  Here, stand up and hold this—” Andrews handed Preston the blood pack, then picked up Deacon’s left arm to locate a vein.  He flinched at the sight.  “His hand—it’s…”

It was almost severed in two, is what it was.  And turning shades of purple and yellow and white Preston had only seen on corpses.

“We can try and fix that later, come on, he’s dying here.” Preston ordered.  Andrews nodded and attached the tube to Deacon’s arm.

Preston nervously stood over Deacon, holding the bloodpack, while Andrews worked.

With nothing to do but stand and worry, Preston’s mind began digging through what had happened.  This was bad.  Very bad.  The General was dead, and Deacon had killed him.  Killed him.  He must have been hunting Deacon.  Made sense—last member of the Railroad, and if the General was out to wipe them off the map…

But he’d lost somehow.  Deacon had killed him. 

Preston had sent the others away, but would they really buy his half-baked excuse about Gunners?  And if they did, surely Andrews wouldn’t.

He looked down at Andrews.  Wholly focused on his task.  The boy looked genuinely concerned.  Preston had to remember that most of them were green recruits.  Farmers who didn’t know what a battlefield looked like.  Maybe they really hadn’t been able to tell.  But if they found out… _Damn, what would they do?  _ Well, Preston was the only one who knew what had been going on with the General and the institute.  If they figured out Deacon had killed the General, getting them to understand the situation would probably be something like…impossible.  Sole had a lot of credit with the people of the Commonwealth, had done a lot of good stuff when he first arrived.  Yeah, that wouldn’t be good.  At all.

The blood pack was empty, so Preston returned it to Andrews after exchanging a few words, then he moved over to Deacon’s right side again.  He picked up the knife, wiped off the blood, and stuck it in his belt.  Andrews didn’t even glance over to see what he was doing.

“Is he gonna make it?”  Preston asked.  There wasn’t anything but exhaustion in his voice, but as soon as the words were out, he felt a sudden wave or fear.  Somehow he’d just sort of assumed that Deacon would live.

Andrews’ intense expression was trained on Deacon’s side wound, which he was still attempting to treat.  The stimpacks were lifesavers, but they were meant for healing minor wounds, and sometimes breaks.  The chunk of charred side, bullet wound close to his neck, and the deep gash across Deacon’s chest weren’t going to heal with one hit from a stimpack, and a drink of water.

“I don’t know, sir.”  Andrews replied.  “But I’ve stopped the bleeding, and he’s still breathing.  If he makes it through the next few hours, and we’re careful moving him somewhere safe, I think he’ll be okay.”

Preston let out a quiet sigh of relief and smiled at Andrews. “Good work, soldier.  You saved a man’s life today.”

Andrews looked a little embarrassed and tried to hide a smile.  He was only about sixteen, and this was his first field treatment.  “Thank you, sir.”

“Can we do anything about his hands?”  Preston asked, kneeling opposite Andrews.

“Well, I’ve stopped the left from bleeding, and I’m going to try to sew it…back on” the words were almost choked out.  He had a tough stomach for a 16 year old, but sewing half of someone’s hand back on wasn’t exactly a fun choice for your first surgery in the field of battle.  “I think the other wrist can be set and held with a bandage, and at least mostly healed with a stimpack.”

“Good work.  Let’s do it.”

The two men buckled down and set to work, doing their best to piece Deacon back together.  The hands weren’t as bad as the side had been—it had taken three stimpacks, one after the other, to rebuild the missing chunk in Deacon’s side, and Preston felt almost sick watching the flesh try its best, full of false new life, and then give up partway when the drug ran out between stimpack shots. Peeling off burned flesh and regrowing, over and over.  Stimpacks weren’t really meant for this much shouldering of injuries, but they didn’t have a lot of choices, and while the skin was rough and a little patchwork with a smell like acid burns, the side was in one piece again.  Andrews had managed to reattach the top half of Deacon’s left hand, but Preston could already tell that it wasn’t going to save the limb.  Thankfully, his right wrist was much easier to work with.  Much being a relative statement.  There wasn’t enough bone intact to really…set anything.  Andrews stimpacked his wrist and Preston grimaced at the sound of bones crunching together—they could see the pieces moving under the surface of the skin.  As pieces began to reform, Andrews did his best to guide the pieces into place and set them, but it was long and careful work. 

Several hours later, most of the patrols had returned. Preston had spoken with them, and decided to have them set up camp.  This wasn’t exactly a good place to lie low, but they couldn’t risk moving Deacon in his condition, and it was getting dark.

One of the Minutemen had found the General’s ammo bag on top of the dam.  It held a stealth boy, a few stimpacks, and a vast assortment of ammunition.  She’d given the bag to Preston, and the two had been standing by the dam discussing a perimeter guard when Andrews called him over.

“Sir, I’m getting some movement.”

Preston dismissed the Minuteman he’d been speaking with, and started to head over towards Andrews, when he heard Shora.

“Hold up, who are--” her voice was cut off by the sound of a laser pistol going off, and a sharp cry.

“Listen very carefully.”  Preston knew the voice.  It sent shivers down his spine.  He’d met the Courser a few times, when the General had brought him along.  Preston disliked X6-88.  He didn’t act like a man or a machine, he acted like a weapon.  Cold, metal, only interested in hurting people.

 “Damn,” Preston whispered under his breath.  “Men, fallback!  Don’t shoot.  Hold position and fan out.”

They did, everyone moving behind cover and keeping their muskets trained on the intruder.  X6-88 stepped out into the clearing, holding Shora in front of him.  Her arm was bleeding.  Thank God.  Still alive.

“I’m here looking for—” He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes falling on the General’s lifeless form.  Even from a distance, the Courser was able to recognize him instantly.  He swallowed, just once, and his expression flickered for a moment.  His head turned from the General to Deacon’s body by Andrews, to the battlefield, then back to the General.  His voice dropped and when he spoke, he was somehow even harsher and colder than before.  “He’s dead.  And that thing killed him.”  He turned and locked his gaze on Preston.  “Listen carefully.  I am going to kill that decomposing corpse slowly bleeding out back there.  If you get in my way, I am going to mow down every last one of you, and enjoy it.”

The Courser took a step forward, and Deacon heard the hum of a Minuteman charging their rifle for a shot. 

X6-88 didn’t even turn to look at the man.  He looked at Preston. “Why are your men protecting him?  My commander was also your General.  Surely you aren’t blind enough to have missed what went on here.”

Preston took a step to the side, putting himself between the Courser and Deacon.

X6-88’s face grew darker.  “I see.  Not so loyal, then.”

In a sudden movement, the Courser’s laser pistol was against Shora’s head. 

“No!” He pulled the trigger before the words were even out of Preston’s mouth.

The Minutemen opened fire on the Courser.  Preston heard shouts and saw blasts from X6-88’s rifle fly past.  Wasn’t time supposed to slow down and give you the chance to think?

But it didn’t, and Preston didn’t have time to think.  He took aim and fired.  He saw a bolt fly past his head and heard a cry behind him. He turned to see Andrews clutching his arm.  Preston turned and ran for Andrews, grabbing him and pulling him behind one of the concrete chunks as shots blurred past.

Preston looked around the edge of the concrete.  X6-88 was locked in combat with the remaining Minutemen, and it did not look good.  There was a cold certainty in his chest that they were all going to die.  He turned back to Andrews.  “Go!”

Andrews stared at Preston blankly. “Sir?”

“Now!” Preston commanded.  “I’ve got him” he gestured at Deacon’s still form behind them.

“We can’t leave you, sir!”  Andrews said desperately.  Preston heard a scream somewhere to their left.  His Minutemen were getting mowed down.  That Courser was going to kill every last one of them, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.  He tightened his grip on Andrews’ shoulder.  “Listen soldier, this is an Institute Courser.  They specialize in fighting groups.  I’ve fought one before, I can do this—but the only way I stand a chance against him is in a one-on-one fight.  I know it sounds crazy, but they aren’t trained for solo combat.  I learned this fighting with the General.  I can’t do anything with everyone out there—I need you to get the others and retreat, do you hear me?  Fall back, as fast as you can.  Stay close enough to offer fire support, but do not engage him directly.  Snipe from a distance.  I can handle this alone.  I can only handle this if I am alone.  Do you understand me?”

Andrews hung in indecision.

“Everyone’s lives depend on us, can you do this for me?”  Preston shouted, grabbing his shoulders and almost shaking the boy.

“Yes, sir.”  Andrews nodded, face crowded with worry.

“Good.”  Preston said, letting go of him.  “Listen, if you see me go down, I want you to run.  I’m the only one here with experience fighting a Courser, and believe me when I say that thing will kill every last one of you.  Just go.  Regroup, find help, and hole up.”

“But—”

“Listen to me, Andrews.  This is the hardest thing you’re going to have to learn with the Minutemen.  Sometimes, you have to keep on going alone.  For the Minutemen, and for the Commonwealth.  Can I trust you to do that?”

Andrews’ face was flooded with emotion, overwhelmed by the situation.  Sixteen years old, his first battle, and it had to be this one.  The boy nodded.  “You have my word, sir.  Even if I am the very last one, I’ll keep going.”

“Thank you.”  Preston suddenly remembered the General’s ammo bag around his shoulder.  He took it off and dropped it on the ground, opening it and taking out the stimpacks.  He handed them to Andrews.  “Make sure you stay alive.”

Andrews nodded, turned and took off like a rocket.  Preston could hear him calling to the others.

Preston’s hands were shaking.  He was going to die.  God, how many men had he just lost?  But he couldn’t just leave an unarmed man to die—just hand him over.  Preston leveled his musket, took a deep breath, and moved from his cover.  It was getting dark, but he could pick out the Courser’s locations by following the blue bolts of light coming from his laser rifle.  He aimed, and took a shoot.  He couldn’t tell if it hit the Courser or not.  Damn thing was using a stealth boy.  He could tell it got his attention.  X6-88 turned from pursuing the retreating Minutemen, and started firing on Preston, who barely made it behind part of the dam wall.  After a few seconds, he saw X6-88 re-materialize, still a few yards away, but rushing to close the gap.  Preston fired again and again, but somehow the Courser kept evading him.  Preston was washed with sweat.  He was out of his depth. 

He moved, taking off to a new spot of cover.  He had to at least get that thing away from where Deacon was.  Not that even that would really matter, if he didn’t think of something fast.  He would die, and then the Courser would kill Deacon, and god only knew, maybe the rest of the Commonwealth, just in revenge.

The thing was close now.  If he got close enough to engage in melee combat, it was all over.  Preston didn’t have anything but the musket.  He suddenly remembered the knife he’d taken from Deacon.  He didn’t have any idea how to properly knife fight.

A blast from X6-88’s rifle scorched the side of Preston’s face.  He fell back and took cover behind one of the concrete chunks littering the side of the dam.

Damn it, only about fifteen feet between them now.  That thing was relentless.  Preston steadied his breathing and charged a shot.

Suddenly a hand went over his mouth and another pulled him backwards.

He jolted in surprise and went to grab the hand over his mouth.

“Deacon.   Not trying to kill you.  Now be really quiet.” came a voice in his ear.

The hand over his mouth let go, but the other one kept a tight grip on his waist.  He saw the hand reappear, holding a boxy object.  Deacon let go of Preston for a second to switch the StealthBoy on, then pulled the box up to Preston’s chest and held onto his waist again, pulling them together.

Both of them went perfectly still.  StealthBoys were not meant to be used on multiple people at once.  Preston heard X6-88’s footsteps pounding closer.  Behind him, he felt Deacon hold his breath, and instinctively, he held his breath as well.

In an instant, X6-88 was around the corner gun leveled, looking right at them.  Right through them.  He cursed and shot off, right past, further into the woods by the river.  Slower this time, looking for any traces of where Preston had disappeared to.

Deacon slowly released his breath.  “Hi.”

“Hi.” Preston didn’t really know what else to say.  “You heard…?”

“I got the gist of it.”  Deacon replied.  “Look.  We don’t have long before this wears off and he finds us.”

“You have a plan?”  Preston asked hopefully.

“Just let him have me.”

There was no emotion in his voice.  “No.” Preston was adamant.  “I’m not just going to let him execute you.”

“You haven’t got much choice,” Deacon’s voice was hard.  “No offense, but I don’t think you and your Minutemen stand a chance.  I’ve got enough blood on my hands, I don’t want another group wiped out because of me.”

“But it’s not right to just—”

“Look, unless you have a better idea, this way gets you the fewest casualties.”  He paused, and his voice lost its edge.  “I don’t mind.”

“You don’t mind?”

“No.” He just sounded tired.  “Just hand me over, and see if he’ll let you all off the hook.  …But, I, uh, wouldn’t stay too close.  That bag of Sole’s had a few grenades in it.  I’m sure he wants to take his time with me, and, who knows, maybe I can take one more of those Institute bastards with me.” He waited a second for Preston to respond, but he didn’t, so Deacon continued.  “Please, Garvey.  I don’t want any more deaths on my head.”

Deacon had never sounded like that before.

The StealthBoy shut off.

Deacon let go of Preston.  Preston turned to look at him.  He recognized the look on his face.  It was one he knew better than anyone.  Preston nodded.

“Okay.”

Shakily, he stood to his feet and walked out into the clearing.  “X6-88! We’re backing off—you can have Deacon.  You’re right—Sole was out General. I just ask that you let the Minutemen here go.  None of them had anything to do with this.”

X6-88 seemed to materialize on the edge of the forest.

“Put your weapons down.  Now.  On the ground.”

Preston complied, dropping his laser musket.

From the tone of his voice, Preston could almost hear X6-88’s eyes narrow behind his glasses. “The knife, too.” 

He’d forgotten he had it.  He obligingly pulled it out of his belt and let it hit the ground.

“Now, kick them into the river.”  X6-88 stepped out fully into the clearing, his face as impassible as a statue.

Preston was only a few feet from the bank.  He complied again, kicking the weapons into the fast moving water.

“Over here.”  X6-88 said, indicating with his head that Preston should approach.

Preston slowly walked towards him.  X6-88 met him halfway.

“Do I have your word that you won’t go after the Minutemen?” Preston asked, trying to read the Courser’s expression.

“Honestly, I don’t give a damn about your Minutemen.” came the reply.  He sounded like he honestly could not have cared less.  “I just want him.”  The Courser was looking right past Preston, to a ways back, where Deacon lay, propped up against a rock, watching them in silence.  “You wait here.”  X6-88 walked past Preston. 

Preston turned and stood still, watching. 

X6-88 only took two steps before he stopped.  “Deacon, drop the grenades,” he leveled his laser rifle at Preston’s head without looking behind him “or I kill him.”

Preston couldn’t see Deacon through X6-88, but he heard the splash of four grenades landing in the river.

The Courser took a step forward, then pulled the trigger.  Preston felt a searing pain in his arm and stumbled backwards to his knees, crying out.

“All of them.”  The tone was cold and hard.

Preston looked up and saw Deacon remove two more grenades.  He held them for a second as if deciding, then tossed them harmlessly to the side.  Preston saw X6-88 smile.  He had never seen him smile before, and he never wanted to see it again.

The Courser closed the distance between himself and Deacon quickly.  He surveyed Deacon thoughtfully.  “Almost dead already, I see.  That’s too bad.”  X6-88 looked at the freshly healed skin holding together the gash across Deacon’s torso.  He picked up his foot and rammed it into Deacon’s chest, then slowly twisted it, ripping the fragile new skin apart, and tearing his chest back open.  Deacon let out a yell of pain.

X6-88 pulled back the arm holding his long laser rifle, and slammed the side of the gun into Deacon’s head. 

“Did you enjoy killing him?” the Courser asked, voice fast like a whip.  He hit him again, snapping his head back against the rock.  Blood was oozing down Deacon’s face now.  “Did you think you had won?”  He grabbed Deacon by the throat and lifted him off the ground, pulling him close.  “Because you haven’t!  You haven’t stopped anything!  And just for you, I’m going to find and hunt down every person who ever lifted a damn fucking finger to help your little group, and I’m going to burn them all.  I am going to finish what he started, and I am going to end it so much worse for your people than you could possibly imagine!”  He was shouting now.  Fury.  There was a clear emotion on the Courser’s face finally and this was it.  He slammed Deacon back against the rock and he cried out again.  The Courser smashed his gun against Deacon’s head again, breaking his nose and tearing open a gash across it.  “The Railroad has always been an overly resilient little radroach in our way,” he punctuated his words with blows from the rifle “but when I’m finished, people won’t even remember it ever fucking existed!  It is never, ever—!”

Preston slammed the stone against the Courser’s head.  For a second, he was afraid it hadn’t had any effect at all, so he pivoted back and swung it down again—hard.  This time X6-88 fell to his knees, struggling to get his arms up to shield his head.  Preston didn’t stop.  He kept bring the boulder down on the Courser, again, and again, and again, until he finally heard Deacon’s voice through his fog of desperation.

“You got him.  He’s dead.” 

Preston wasn’t sure how many times Deacon had said that, but he could tell this wasn’t the first.  He stopped and looked down at the blood on his hands.  He dropped the rock and moved to Deacon’s side.

“Damn, we just got you patched up, too.  Andrews!”  He shouted at the top of his lungs.  He wasn’t even sure they were close enough to hear him.  He shouldn’t have doubted them.  He also shouldn’t have believed they would be obedient enough to really take that order to flee.

His entire group materialized from around the clearing.  Andrews reached him first.  He heard some of the others cheering and talking excitedly. 

“You all saw the whole thing?”  He asked Andrews as the boy skidded to his knees beside them.

“Yeah, you were brilliant!  He bought every word of it!”  Andrews pulled out one of the stimpacks Preston had given him just a few minutes before, and turned to Deacon.  “I’m sorry about your chest.  And your face.  You were very brave.” 

Deacon smiled involuntarily and closed his eyes.  “Thanks kid, lying’s my forte.”

“How bad is he?”  Preston asked.  Two more minutemen joined them, holding headlamps. 

Andrews injected Deacon with the stimpack and tried to wipe the blood off his face.  “Bad, but still breathing, right?”  Deacon’s eyes were still shut, but he gave a weak and shaky thumbs up.  “Are you okay, sir?”

Preston glanced at his arm.  “Yeah, I’m fine.  I’ve gotten worse from Raiders.  …Shora?”

Andrews shook his head.  “John and Malcolm too.  Courser killed them both before we took off.”  Andrews paused to turn and spit at X6-88. 

Preston closed his eyes.  All three of them.  Still, the other seven had made it.  That was better than he’d expected.  He opened his eyes and found Deacon was watching his face intently.  As soon as they made eye contact, Deacon looked away.

If moving Deacon had been even a vague option before, it wasn’t one now.  Andrews worked tirelessly for the next ten hours, trying to keep him alive.  Deacon passed out after the first half hour and descended into a sort of feverous state of unconsciousness.  Preston hung around, checking in on him every so often, and used the rest of his time helping reorganize the remaining Minutemen.  They set up a tight perimeter, and moved the bodies of their comrades into the camp.  Preston oversaw the building of makeshift travois to transport their bodies back to the Castle.  Several Minutemen were nursing minor injuries, and Preston had, of necessity, minor field medic experience, so he spent some time patching people up as best he could.  The whole night he half expected an army of synths and Coursers to pour through the forest, but none did.

Some time around dawn, Preston switched off with Andrews, who needed some well-deserved sleep.  He passed out the second his head hit the bedroll.

Preston stayed by Deacon, thinking.  Light was slowly beginning to creep around the edges of things, and his thoughts were unwinding at a similar pace.  He needed an idea.  He needed a good plan.

He didn’t notice Deacon was awake at first.  The man could be quieter than anyone he’d ever seen.  No wonder he liked his stealth tactics so much.  His breathing hadn’t even changed, and he hadn’t moved an inch, but when Preston looked over, Deacon’s eyes were open, and he was staring at the dim sky above them.

“Deacon.  How are you feelin?’

Deacon didn’t say anything at first, and when he did, he kept his gaze on the sky.  “Alive.  Speaking of which, why’d you do it?”

“Save you?”

“Yeah.”  Deacon slowly turned his head to look at Preston.  “You know I killed him.  Your General.”

“Yeah…”  Preston thought for a moment.  “But, it doesn’t matter.  He might have been our General, but he didn’t deserve to be anymore.  He was selling out the Commonwealth to the Institute, and taking innocent lives.  The Minutemen stand for ideals, not individuals.”

“Huh.”  Deacon looked back up at the sky.  Despite the handful of stimpacks he’d been injected with in the past few hours, his nose was still broken, and his left eye was swollen shut now.  It was a wonder he was still alive, after all that.  There was a lot still broken.

“So, what now?”  Preston asked.  “I mean, where can we help you get to?”

“What’s my next step?” Deacon closed his eyes.  “Don’t have one.” 

“I know the Railroad was wiped out, but you’re still alive—you could rebuild—”

“No.  No, I can’t.”  Deacon turned his head away from Preston and continued.  “Look, I appreciate you people sticking your necks out for me, but I wish you hadn’t.”

“You—?”  Preston stopped, slowly letting his voice fade out.  Troubled.  Deacon was so still and tense, he almost looked fragile.  For a second, it was quiet.  “Deacon…”

“Preston, I got nowhere else to go.  Killing him, that was the last thing I wanted to do.  I can’t.”  He stopped, then kept going, more quiet now.  “Keep going like this.”  Everything he had left went out of his voice.  “The only reason the Railroad ever let him in, the only reason he ever even found the Institute—it’s because I vouched for him, I convinced them to take him in.  All of this.  Everything that sick bastard had done?  That’s on me, now.  And God,” he gave a weak almost laugh “God it’s so much.  He’s done so much.  And I… I can never… There’s just...way too much to make up for.  And I can’t do it.  …So.  I’d appreciate it if you…”

“Deacon.”  Preston curled his hand into a fist, clenching it so his nails bit into the palm.  He looked away from the other man, at a patch of dried blood beside him..  “It’s not your fault.  It’s mine.”

“What?”  Deacon turned his head to look at him again.

“You may have convinced your people to let him in, but you did it because he was the General of the Minutemen,” Preston looked back at Deacon, meeting his eyes.  “You recommended him on my word—on my decision to trust him with leading the Minutemen.  This is my fault, at least as much as yours.”

“No.”  Deacon shook his head.  “That may have been part of it, but I was the one who made the judgement call—”

“You might see it that way, but we both know you do your homework.  You followed him around, and it wasn’t until you saw him doing good, and leading the Minutemen, that you decided to trust him.”  Suddenly Preston couldn’t look at Deacon.  So he didn’t.  “I’m sorry.  I know that doesn’t mean anything.  All those deaths, because I messed up.  Because I was an idealistic fool who thought I found someone who could bring the Minutemen back.  Because I let my hope blind me to reality.  I can’t ever do anything to make it up, not to you,” for just a second he looked back at Deacon “but I want you to know I am sorry.  More than you could ever know.”  His fingernails bit into his palm harder as he spoke, looking away again.  “I’ve done nothing but lead the Minutemen into disaster after disaster.  And I managed to even drag your people down with me.”

“Don’t give yourself so much credit, Garvey.”  Deacon said.  Preston looked over and saw Deacon watching the sky intently.  “I may have considered the Minutemen angle as a factor, but if you think I’d have let someone walk right into HQ based solely on your recommendation, you’re overselling your sway.”

“Are you really trying to cheer _me_ up right now?”  Preston asked, the hint of a smile behind the worry on his face for a second.

“Is it working?”  Deacon glanced back at him and asked.  Preston did smile then, and Deacon returned it with a tired smile of his own that almost reached his eyes.  Deacon then let his head rest back against the bedroll.  “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but all the same.”  The smile faded from his face.

“We’re both to blame.”  Preston said after a moment.  He started to reach for Deacon’s shoulder, then decided against it, and awkwardly let his hand rest on his knee.  The worn fabric of his Minuteman uniform felt strangely comforting under his fingers.  “So this is both of our mess to fix.”

“You really mean that, don’t you?”  Deacon asked, studying the sky again.

“I do.”  Preston thought for a second.  “Look, I know we’ve had our differences, and I know you probably hate me now, for what my judgment cost—“

“I, hate you?”  He wasn’t sure what the expression on Deacon’s face was.  Something between sad and amused, maybe.

“—But just the same, I think we can work together to do something about this.  The Commonwealth is in danger, and we both want to see it saved.  There’s not a lot of time, and not much we can do, against something like the Institute, but we’ve got to try.  I know you think it’s too big to fix, and I know that the things I’ve done…the people I’ve failed…I can’t ever make that right.  But, maybe, together.  Maybe there’s still something out there we can save.”  Preston kept watching Deacon’s face, trying to read some kind of reaction.  He didn’t know what he was going to do.  How could Preston possibly stand up to the institute, how he could rebuild from this.  Especially alone.  Again.  Maybe he really been alone, since Quincy, and he just hadn’t realized it.  Maybe that was just his cross to bear.  He was right.  He’d failed everyone in Quincy, and ever since then, every decision he’d made had been a bad one.  He just couldn’t stop letting people down.  No matter how hard he tried.

He could barely see Deacon’s face at first, but the sunlight was beginning to break through, over the horizon.  He still wasn’t used to seeing Deacon’s eyes.  Blue. 

He didn’t know how to read the expression, a kind of pained—slow and still and quiet, waiting.  Tired, and sad, like someone who knew they were about to lose something, or maybe who was just remembering a loss.  He wasn’t looking at Preston.

Finally, Deacon looked up and his steel blue eyes met Preston’s.  Everything around them felt still. Then, slowly and painfully, Deacon moved, holding his bandaged right hand out to Preston.    “Okay, then.  Let’s try and fix this.  Together.”

Preston gingerly took Deacon’s injured hand and shook it.  “If we can,” he agreed.

“If we can.”

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As rumors and distorted versions of Sole's death begin to spread throughout the Commonwealth, Nick Valentine and Piper Wright decide they have to know the truth. With the gravity of what the Institute's repercussions towards the Commonwealth might be settling on them, Deacon and Preston begin to move forward towards the only plan they've got.

The cigarette between Nick Valentine’s fingers was slowly burning out   It was windy today.  It was never windy in Diamond City.  Not really in the whole Commonwealth--unless there was a storm blowing in.  But there was no storm today.  And the wind was crisp.  It felt like the Autumns Nick had memories of, from before the war.  It should have seemed nice, comforting, familiar; but it didn’t.  It didn’t belong to this Commonwealth.

There was trouble in the air.

Nick heard footsteps pounding along the pathway that led from the market to his office.  He knew who it was before he saw her.  She always forgot to slow down while taking the corner, and slid while making the turn.  She really overshot it this time, and had to grab onto the corner of a nearby building to keep herself up as she rounded the corner.  It didn’t slow her down, though.  Piper Wright skidded to a stop two feet away, hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath.

“Nick.” she gasped out, looking up at him.

“Piper?  You alright?”  Nick discarded his cigarette and took a stop forward, putting a hand on her shoulder.

 “They’re saying he’s dead,” she managed, locking eyes with him.  “Sole.”

Nick was taken aback.  Was that even possible?  Now? 

“Who?” he asked, both hands on her shoulders now. 

Piper slowly stood up, still breathing hard.  “Don’t know yet.  Word is, Minuteman patrol found the body.”  _The Minutemen, huh?_   Nick let go of Piper’s shoulders.  “But.  They’re saying…that he was killed.  By a Courser.”

Nick shook his head.  “That’s not possible.”

“Yeah, I know, I know.”  Piper’s face fell a little, and she shook her head, as if trying to get rid of the idea.  “But then, what do you think…?  Do you think he’s really…dead?”

“I don’t know,” Nick said, lighting a cigarette and handing it to Piper, who took it gratefully.  He placed a consoling hand on her arm.  “But we’re going to find out.”  Nick turned and opened the door to his office.  “Ellie, Piper and I are going off for a bit.  Dig up anything you can on the news in the market, about Sole, and if anyone contacts _you_ with questions, you don’t know anything.”

“What happened to Sole?” 

Piper could hear Ellie’s responses as she and Nick traded words.  She took a long drag on the cigarette Nick had given her and tried hard to breathe calmly.  Piper watched Nick’s eyes as he spoke, glowing steadily like the neon lights in his sign, and the embers from her cigarette.  It was good to be facing all this with a friend.  God, her hands were shaking.  She cupped them together and tried to hide it.

Nick closed the door to his office and stepped next to her.  “Ready to hit the road?”

“Yeah.  Let’s go,” she replied, fingers still desperately wound around the cigarette.

 

* * *

 

 

“So, where can we start?”  Preston asked.  “I mean, soon as word gets out, and it will, it’s going to be full on war out there, so we have to move fast.  Your people were working with Sole when he went in originally.  Did you all…have some kind of plan?”

“Yeah.” Deacon frowned.  “We did, but, it involved Benedict Arnold over there.  Working undercover.  For us.  Kinda burned the bridge on that one.”

“Right.”  Preston leaned back against his chunk of concrete and thought. “Well, --”

They heard a groan, coming from somewhere about six feet away.  Both of them froze.

“Oh my god.”  Deacon punctuated each word with disbelief. 

“That’s impossible.” Preston was up on one knee, gun ready.

“I swear to god, I saw you bash that thing’s head in,” came Deacon’s voice from Preston’s left. “Like, six—eight times.” 

Preston’s eyes were focused on the figure in front of him. “I was pretty sure I did that, too,” he replied.  He had been really sure.  And yet, X6-88 groaned again, and this time, Preston saw his shoulder shift a little.  “Damn it, what’s it going to take.”  There was a whirring sound as Preston charged his laser musket.

“Hang on a second,” Deacon interrupted. 

“What?”  Preston paused and looked over at him.

“Look, if we need to get into the institute, he might have information if we can use.”  Preston could hear Deacon thinking this through as he spoke.

Preston mulled that over for a second.  “Do you honestly think we could get him to tell us anything?”

“Voluntarily?  No way in hell.  But, if we can get him to Doctor Amari…”

“You mean…You think she can dig up something in his memories?”  Preston asked, considering.  It might actually work.  He wasn’t very familiar with Doctor Amari, or the Memory Den, but he’d learned some about it from Sole.  She’d been able to dig through Kellogg’s memories after he died, and if she’d been able to do that, well, for sure digging through a living person would be easier, right?  But…

“I mean, don’t get me wrong—watching you beat that guy to death with a rock was probably, like, at least the third most awesome, not to mention enjoyable, thing I’ve ever seen, but.”

“But you’re right.  If we can get the information we need from him, we can’t throw that opportunity away,” Preston finished.  “We’ve got the whole Commonwealth depending on us.”  Slowly, he let his gun lower.  “Quick thinking.”

Deacon didn’t have a response.  He looked over at X6-88.  “So.  How exactly do you…safely immobilize a Courser?”

“Uh…” Preston had no idea.  “Like a really strong person, I hope.”  Preston walked over to the Courser.  He bent down to inspect the body.  “It shouldn’t be too much of a problem, I think.  Actually, keeping him alive long enough to reach Goodneighbor is probably going to be the problem.  Andrews!”

The poor kid had barely gotten to sleep.  He was going to love this.

 

* * *

 

“We’re going to go a little off-road,” Nick Valentine said quietly.

Piper had been lost in thought, so it took a second for the words to register.  “Something wrong?”

“Nothing new.  Our mutual friend’s had a Courser tailing me for two weeks now.  I expect he thought I might lead him to Deacon.”  Nick kept walking ahead at the same steady pace.

Piper looked around cautiously as she matched his stride.  “Where?”

“Behind us, and to the left.  I can hear him.”

“You’ve got some good ears,”  Piper said, impressed.

“One of the few perks of being mechanical.”  Nick smiled and took something out of his pocket.  Piper couldn’t tell what it was.

“So, how are we gonna lose him?”  she asked, trying to casually get a better look at what Nick was holding.

“There’s a hidden tunnel up here at the sub shop.  We’re going the long way through.”  Nick handed Piper something.  She looked down. 

“Isn’t this one of the Minutemen’s artillery grenades?”

“Yes.  They cause an awful lot of smoke,” Nick replied, turning a second grenade over in his hands.  “Ready?” 

Piper nodded.  They were close to the shop. 

“Okay, now, stay close.”  Nick activated the artillery grenade in his hands and tossed it behind them without turning to aim.  Piper did the same.  The grenades went off one just a second after one another, and a sudden burst of smoke engulfed the street.  Piper thought she heard a laser pistol go off, and felt Nick’s hand close around her wrist.  Instinctively, she held her breath and took off with him, towards where she knew the sub shop had been.  Nick found the trap door quickly and opened it.  Piper skipped the rungs and jumped down onto the floor of the tunnel inside, Nick hot on her heels, pulling out a key, and locking the door behind them almost the second he was inside.

A second later, he was on the ground of the tunnel next to her.

“We have to keep moving.  Can’t be sure he won’t find a way in here and chase us, but at least we’ve got a good head start.”  Nick paused and looked Piper up and down.  “You alright?”

“Yeah.  Yeah, I’m fine.  Just a little surprised, I guess.  Never knew this was here.”  She looked around, taking in the old walls.  “So…where does this path take us out, exactly?”

“Andrew station,” Nick replied, starting forward again.

“Andrew station…” Piper followed, curiously scanning everything in sight.  “How did you stumble across the key to this place?”

“Sole.” Nick replied.

“Right…”  Piper had forgotten she wasn’t the only one who had spent so much of the past year with Sole.  Nick had traveled with him nearly as much as she had.  She studied her boots and kept walking. 

“Piper, you know, that wasn’t what I meant when I asked if you were alright.”  They had been going on in silence for a few minutes, and Piper’s thoughts had begun to wander again.  She looked up at Nick in confusion, then looked away again when it clicked.

“Right.  I appreciate it, Nick, but I’m fine.”  Piper had had a lot to think over, the past two weeks.  And she wasn’t sure of any of it.  The Institute?  The things Sole had said, and done.  To the Brotherhood—the Railroad?  To people she knew.  He’d changed so much, and she’d been trying to get used to the idea of living her life, trapped, with him as…well, like this—the way he’d become—and that had been…unbearably...she hadn’t even been sure she could do it—but then…then.  Sole.  God, what to think of him now?  And was he really dead?

The only thing Piper knew for certain anymore was this: she was not fine.

 

* * *

 

 

Preston Garvey rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath.  It had been a sleepless night.  Andrews hadn’t been very excited about being awakened to patch up the Courser who had killed three of his friends, but after Preston had explained some of the situation to him, Andrews had woken up completely, and even seemed a little excited to be a part of the mission.  He also seemed, quite understandably, to take pleasure in the pain-inducing parts of this task. 

It seemed that X6-88’s arms had been what saved his head, though Preston had broken both of them pretty impressively, with that rock.  Despite the broken arms and massive head wound on the Courser, they were all still a little mystified, until Andrews had rolled him over and they’d found a used stimpack still sticking out of the Courser’s chest. 

They hadn’t exactly been towing shackles around or anything, but they’d been able to use some chain packed as climbing supplies, along with some ropes, to tie down the Courser.  One of the Minutemen had been able to borrow a wagon and a Brahmin from a nearby settlement, so moving Deacon safely, as well as transporting X6-88, was all much more plausible now.

The Courser had yet to really regain consciousness, which was just fine with everyone involved.  Andrews had dosed him with some powerful, “potentially coma inducing” tranquilizers meant for animals, and he’d stayed out.

Deacon had managed to stay awake for awhile, watching the preparations, but had passed out again after about an hour.  Preston was glad, Deacon needed the rest.  He couldn’t imagine what the man was going through right now, but he did know what it was like to be the last man standing, and to regret it. 

But now it was time to move out.

Preston walked over to Deacon and knelt down, gently touching his shoulder.  Deacon’s eyes flew open.  If his hand hadn’t been on Deacon’s shoulder, he probably would have shot upright and reinjured his chest, but Preston caught him in time.

“Easy, just me.”  Preston said, shifting to get more clearly in Deacon’s line of sight.  It took a second, through the sleep-induced fog, but Deacon’s tense muscles relaxed and he laid back.

“Careful, if I still had opposable thumbs, I might have definitely stabbed you,” Deacon said. 

Preston smiled.  “You’ll get them back soon enough.  We’re moving out now.  We got a wagon, but we’ll have to carry you over to it.”

“I can stand.”  Deacon was probably lying.

“No, you think you can stand,” Preston said, shaking his head.  “And maybe you can, but I don’t feel like taking chances.”  Deacon started to say something, but Preston cut him off.  “Please, just let us do this without a fight?”

Deacon sighed.  “Knock yourselves out.”

“Andrews, Malloy, with me.”  The two Minutemen hurried over to join him.  With relatively little effort, but a good bit of awkward footwork, the three of them moved Deacon over into the cart.  A couple of the Minutemen had set out bedrolls on the cart, to make the ride easier on him.

“You all really didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” Deacon said, as the Minuteman patrol started out.

“It’s no trouble,” one of them replied, smiling at him.  “It’s our job to help.”

“And you deserve all the rest you can get, after what you’ve been through,” added another.                                                                

Deacon didn’t say anything.

They’d been walking for a good couple of hours before Preston heard Deacon speak up quietly.

“Look, when we get to Goodneighbor, what are you going to say?  About him, I mean.” Deacon indicated the General’s body, which had been wrapped and hung carefully on a side of the cart.

Preston pursed his lips.  “I’m not sure yet,” he said, voice low.  The other Minutemen were far enough ahead and to the sides that they wouldn’t be able to hear the conversation over the loud Brahmin and cart, and who knew how much the ones who’d been around had gathered from what the Courser had said, but it generally paid to be careful.  “I’m not sure how much my patrol really knows.  As for everyone else, Chase said the farmer he got the cart from heard Sole was killed by a Courser—I can only assume someone saw what happened last night with X6-88 and misunderstood.  That might help us, if it’s what people think.  I mean, the General’s done a lot of good for the Commonwealth.  Otherwise, us siding against him, to some people, that’ll make us the badguys.  And it’ll only serve to confuse and divide everyone.  But." He paused and exhaled slowly before continuing, turning from Deacon for a moment to study the ground.  "I don’t like lying.  Especially to my people.”

“That’s not the real problem,” Deacon replied, his voice careful and focused.  “If you go with this lie, and people start saying that your General was taken out by a Courser, the Institute is going to know—fast—that you’re in on what happened, and that you’re lying about it.  That could be bad for everyone—definitely bad for the Minutemen.  And if you lie, and then the people of the Commonwealth find out…" he trailed off for just a second as Preston met his eyes.  "It kind of makes anything else you try to pitch them sound underhanded.”

“Right."  

“Don’t get me wrong, if it’s believed, lying would definitely be the better option, but.”

“But there’s multiple sides to it.”  Preston sighed and watched the cracks in the road ahead of him.  Everything had to be so difficult. 

“Besides, it might not be the only version of events going around by now,” Deacon added slowly.

“Well, either way, I’m sticking with it at least until you’re somewhere safe,” Preston replied firmly.

Deacon looked at him for a long couple of seconds, watching as Preston walked forward, shoulders back, eyes on the road, then finally seemed to accept this and let his head rest against the back of the cart.

Preston kept watching the interlocking pathways formed by the cracks in the road.  They would be in Goodneighbor before dusk.  It wasn’t much time to think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments! (and kudos!) They're very motivating when it comes to writing. I hope this continues to be engaging, I am certainly enjoying trying to explore as many of the character voices and points of view as I can (well, without making this wildly sporadic), and I definitely plan to incorporate more.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hancock gets involved, and Deacon and Preston reach Goodneighbor.

Chapter 4 

 

“Where is he?”  John Hancock dramatically kicked open the door to Nick Valentine’s office. 

Ellie sighed.                                                                                                                         

“Mayor Hancock, Nick’s out of the office today.  But feel free to leave a message.”

“Not the tincan,” Hancock said hurriedly, stalking angrily into the room.  “I mean Deacon.”

Ellie was a little taken aback.  She knew more of what had been going on with Sole than most everyone else did.  Nick had passed a lot of it on.  Including that Sole had been hunting his former friend down for the Institute. 

“He’s not here.  I have no idea where he is.”  She watched in confusion as Hancock punched a wall.

“Damn!”  He immediately calmed down.  “Sorry about your wall.  Okay, thanks, I’m off then.”

“Wait!” Ellie yelled after his retreating back.  “Where are you going?”

“Home!” He called over his shoulder.  Then the office door slammed shut and he was gone.

 _Damn,_ Ellie thought, watching the door shudder on a now broken hinge.  _I really miss living in Goodneighbor._

 

* * *

 

 

“We’re almost there.”

Deacon had been lost in thought.  Or maybe he’d just been having trouble focus with a headwound.  Who knew.  It didn’t really matter.  He’d stopped paying attention to his surroundings, that was what mattered.  That wasn’t a good sign.  Okay.  Preston’s voice.  Almost here—Goodneighbor.  Right. 

Deacon looked up at Preston Garvey, who was surveying him with the same worried expression he’d had all day.  Preston Garvey.  Who ever would have thought he’d end up in a mess like this, with Preston Garvey at his side?  He still wasn’t really sure why Preston was doing any of this.  Something must have made him decide it was the morally upright choice.  Preston always did try to walk the straight and narrow.  What a mess.  And it would probably get a lot worse, very, very fast.  He should have tried harder to talk Preston out of this.  _God damn it_.

“Deacon?”  Preston looked somehow even more worried.  “You okay?”

“Yep,” Deacon made himself focus and answer.  “Goodneighbor?”

“Right ahead.”

“So, did you decide?” Deacon asked, watching the buildings go past as the neared their destination.

“Yeah,” Preston said, letting out a sigh.  “I mean, I think so.”

“I think you should—”

“Hey!”

The shout came from a rampart directly above the door to Goodneighbor.  Preston’s patrol and Deacon looked up in a surprised unison to see several armed members of the neighborhood watch and Mayor Hancock at the ready above them.  The Minuteman patrol came to a sudden halt.

“You the patrol that found them?”  Mayor Hancock shouted down.

“What?”  Preston called back up.

Hancock was really tired of being asked that question today, and he’d only been asked it twice. “Your ‘General’ and Deacon!” he shouted back, shifting his weight.   “Word on the street is, the last member of the Railroad had a one-on-one with him, and kicked his ass, then a Minuteman patrol came by and picked him up, killed a Courser, and took off.”

Preston had a very clear look of “How the hell do they know that” etched across his face.  Poor man must suck at cards.

“So,” Hancock shouted down impatiently “do you have him?”

Deacon raised his hand.  “Hey.”

Hancock blinked in surprise, focusing on him.  “Damn, that is you, isn’t it.  Under all that blood, and with no sunglasses.  You really killed Sole?”

Deacon gave a single nod.

“Now, wait a second,” Preston said, stepping between the cart and the shooters above them.

“Oh, calm down Garvey,” Hancock said.  “I’m not gonna shoot your boy, I want to shake his hand.  Also, whichever one of you killed the Courser—him too!”

Deacon indicated his head toward Preston.

Hancock grinned.  “Damn, Garvey, I’m surprised and impressed.  Now.  Hurry up and get your asses inside, whatever the Institute sent after you, it’s probably not far behind.  Open the gate!”

The door to Goodneighbor swung open.

Preston watched it, overwhelmed.  How had he known?  And if Hancock knew—if all of Goodneighbor knew…Jesus, did the whole Commonwealth?

“Hey, on the bright side, looks like you don’t have to make that decision after all,” came Deacon’s voice from behind Preston.

Preston looked right and left.   His patrol around him was looking back.  They had on a variety of expressions, but somehow none of them were quite what he had expected.

“Look, men, I know we haven’t—“  Preston started.  Deacon cut him off.

“—I killed your General, and I did it because he was a scumbag who betrayed and murdered all my friends for the Institute.  Garvey was only trying to do the right thing.  If this is a shock to anyone, and you have a problem with what I did, now’s the time,”  Deacon was half dead, but his face looked intense enough that if Preston hadn’t known, for a fact, he couldn’t hold a weapon right now, he’d have expected him to draw a pistol and challenge someone to a duel.

“We don’t care,”  said Malloy, looking from Preston, to Deacon, then at her fellow Minutemen around her.  They all nodded. 

“I mean we pretty much knew,” said Chase, a ghoul who’d been one of the first men on the scene, nodding at his twin brother, Kit, who had been another of the few to see the battlefield up close when they arrived.  “We were just waiting for you to explain things”

“But—“  Preston didn’t know how to respond.  “the General.”

“Sir, you’re our commanding officer.  I have never even met the General before,” Andrews spoke up.  He’d moved close to Deacon as soon as Hancock had started talking, and despite being 5”2 had protectively hung close ever since.  “I mean, I looked up to him for rebuilding with you, but I joined the Minutemen because Ronnie Shaw brought a group to fight off a nasty bunch of Raider-Slavers that attacked our homestead.” 

“And I saw you, protecting people from a Super Mutant attack near Coastal Cottage,” Malloy added.

“Defending a Caravan near The Slog,” Kit spoke up.

“Point being,” Malloy said, turning back to Preston, “We trust you.  We know what kind of man you are.  If you say the General sold out to the Institute, we believe you.”

“And we’ll stick with you.”  Andrews looked from Preston to Deacon.  “You and him, from what we’ve seen, you’ve given us no reason not to.  The Minutemen stand for doing what’s right, not for our General.”

“Ideals, not people, huh?”  Deacon asked quietly, looking up at Preston.  He smiled faintly. 

Preston met Deacon’s eyes and nodded, then looked back at his men.  “You’re right.  We stand for ideals, not people.  But are you all ready for this?  Taking on the Institute, head on—there’s going to be a hell of a price to pay.”

Facing his men like that, open and honest, head up, shoulders squared, to Deacon he looked like one of the Generals he’d seen paintings of in old pre-war books.  Momentarily his own Washington, in a way.  Facing down an insurmountable enemy, far better quipped then himself, and praying for soldiers to face it with him. 

 _Well._ Deacon gave a small, tired smile.  _It had worked once before._

The Minutemen glanced at each other for a second, trading nods, then faced Preston and saluted him.  “We’re with you sir,” said Malloy.  “The Commonwealth is our home, and we’re ready to fight for a future in it.”  Her answer was accompanied by a wave of nods from the Minutemen around her. 

Andrews was practically beaming.  He put a hand on Deacon’s shoulder and smiled at him too, as if he were a part of all this.

Preston looked relieved and proud.  He relaxed just a little and smiled at his people.  “Alright then, we better get back to it.”

“Hey!”

They all looked up to see the Neighborhood Watch and Mayor Hancock still looking down at them.

“Next time, have your rousing speeches inside!”  Hancock shouted.  “Get your asses in here so we can shut the door!”

He sounded exasperated, but he looked like he had probably enjoyed the show at least a little.

“You heard him,” Preston called over his shoulder, turning to lead the procession inside. 

As he watched Preston lead the group in, Deacon had a thought that was entirely new.

_Maybe, with him—just maybe—they stand a chance._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very short chapter to make up for how massively long the next one is.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot of reunions at the old state house, as former friends of Sole's work out their places in a plan for the future without him.

Chapter 5

  

Hancock drummed his fingers impatiently on the arm of his chair.  Preston sat opposite him.

“And you think Amari can get enough to get you inside?”

“That’s the idea,” Preston replied. 

“Let’s do it.”  Hancock stood up.  “He is still alive, right?  Someone checked?”

“Uh,” one of the Minutemen nearby looked a little panicked.  “Not since we got here.  I’ll go do that.”  They were up and out of the room in a second.

Hancock watched them go.  “Yeah, and bring him back with you!”

Preston had his hands clasped and was absently rubbing his thumb along the side of his hand.

“Garvey.” Hancock turned and moved back towards Preston.  Preston’s head came up.  “You did good,” Hancock said, sliding back into his chair.  “Not an easy thing, killing a Courser.  Or—beating the shit out of one,” he amended. 

“Thanks.”  Preston looked back at his hands, then at Hancock.  “You sure your people are ready to go up against the Institute though? I know you’re capable, but--”

“It’s our choice, Garvey.  And we’ve made up our minds,” Hancock said, folding his arms across his chest.  “In fact, we were at this party way before any of your guys.  So, better get used to the company.”

Preston smiled.  “Glad to have it, then.” 

There was silence for a few seconds, then the door opened, but it wasn’t the Minuteman with X6-88 who entered, it was Deacon and Andrews.

Hancock and Preston were on there feet in an instant, and Hancock’s “Deacon” overlapped with Preston’s “Can he walk?”

Andrews nodded.  “He’s not exactly feeling great, I’m sure.”  He paused, and Deacon gave a noncommittal gesture.  “But, several more stimpacks and some good old fashioned proper medical attention, needle and thread stuff, and he’s doing pretty alright, uh, all things considered.  But you should wait at least a day before taking any more stimpacks,” he added, turning to Deacon.  “We already used way more than is probably ever a good idea.  If we keep going they’re definitely going to make you sick.”

“Gotcha,” Deacon replied, trying not to look sick.  “Thanks, Doc.”

Andrews nodded, looking pretty happy about being referred to as “Doc,’ and left. 

Deacon didn’t go for a chair.  He just leaned against the wall for support and waited for someone to say something.  He was more unsteady than he was hoping anyone would notice. 

“Hey.” Hancock’s face was unusually grave and sincere.  “I’m sorry about the Railroad.”

“Thanks,” Deacon replied.

“You doing alright?” Hancock asked, taking a step towards that side of the room.

Deacon nodded.  “Yeah.”

“Good.” Hancock turned and moved over to his desk and picked up a beer.  “Because we’ve got a lot more Institute bastards to end.”  Hancock opened the beer, and held it out to Deacon.

“Uh, should he be drinking that?” Preston asked from a few feet away.

Deacon carefully took the beer in his right hand.  The hand was still bandaged around the wrist while the break healed, but the stimpacks had finished most of the job.  It was good to be able to use it again.  “Definitely,” he replied for Hancock, taking a drink.  God, was that better.

Preston looked concerned, but let it go.  The door to Hancock’s office opened.  Preston and Hancock turned, expecting the Minuteman from earlier, but were instead greeted by something completely different.

“Oh, I was looking for you.”  Hancock strode over to greet Nick Valentine.  Piper Wright slipped in behind him and closed the door.  “And little miss reporter, too, I see.”

Piper narrowed her eyes.  “Hancock.”

Hancock turned back to Nick.  “How the hell did I beat you back to Goodneighbor?”

“We, uh, took the long way around to lose a tail,” Nick replied.  “You were in Diamond City?”

“Yeah, it wasn’t easy.  I had to run it to get past security.  Like, usually they’re assholes but man, it was getting kind of a mob-y fever-pitch there today.  Bad even by Diamond City standards–Oh, and sorry about your wall.”

“My what?”  Nick asked.

“You know, nevermind.”  Hancock waved the question away.  “What brings you two to Goodneighbor?”

“Deacon?”  The room was dim, and he was in the back of the room, unmoving against the wall, so it had taken Piper a minute to see him.  “Oh, God.”  She hurried across the room, Nick following more slowly, with Hancock.  “Are you alright?”

“Yep.  Right as rain.  Just a few minor cuts and tears and breaks.  Nothing big.”  Deacon hadn’t ever seen Piper look worried like this before.  And it wasn’t just that, she looked weary, too, in a way he’d have had a hard time imagining on her a month ago.

“Jesus, you had me worried.”  Piper grimaced at the mass of bandages across Deacon’s torso.  “That looks pretty bad.”

“You should see the other guy.”  Deacon immediately regretted making the joke.

Piper moved to greet Preston. 

“Ah, god, Preston, I haven’t seen you in forever!”  She gave him a hug.  After things had started to…change…with Sole, they’d both needed someone to talk to, and seen more of each other. They’d gotten to be pretty solid friends. “We were worried—word on the street is you were attacked by a Courser.”

Preston grinned as he emerged from the hug, putting his hands on her shoulders and looking at her at arm’s length.  “Piper, you’re looking well.  Glad you two made it safely.”

“They did get attacked, but Preston bashed its head in with a rock,” Hancock broke in, adding himself to the conversation.

“You did what?” Piper asked incredulously.

Nick Valentine approached Deacon as the others talked, looking steady and calm as always, but now sad also, in a serious way most people had trouble expressing.  “Glad to see you’re still alive. I’m sorry about the Railroad.  They were good people.”

Deacon nodded.  “Yeah.”  People kept saying that, but he still didn’t know how he was supposed to respond to it.

“Here,” Nick reached into his coat and took something out.  Deacon couldn’t tell what it was at first.  “I couldn’t get very close.  Sole set a Courser on me, hoping I’d lead him to you, but a friend of a friend managed to pick this up from the North Church.  I thought you should have it.”  He handed the object to Deacon and put his metallic free hand on the other man’s shoulder.  “Once this thing is finally over, we’ll see they all get a decent burial.”

Deacon looked down.  Once he could see it clearly, he knew exactly what it was.  Deacon couldn’t think of anything to say, so he wordlessly put Desdemona’s purple checked scarf around his neck. 

There were bloodstains in it he didn’t recognize.  He wondered if all of them were hers.  He tried his hardest not to feel.

Nick gave Deacon’s shoulder a gently reassuring squeeze, then turned to face the others.  They had all been preoccupied with their own conversation, and missed the exchange entirely, which Deacon was grateful for.

“But, how did you know where to find us?” Preston and Piper were still talking, Hancock hanging close, tagging in and out of the conversation.

“We didn’t,” Nick said, walking over to join the group.  “Word is racing around the Commonwealth about Deacon and Sole’s death match.  Some Caravan seems to have been nearby when it happened, and a second one a few hours behind the first added the bit about the Courser.”

“I think it started with Trashcan Carla,” Piper added.

“Cricket’s caravan brought news of the Courser attack,” Nick continued.  “We knew they were heading in Goodneighbor’s general direction, but we were only stopping here to pick up news of sightings.”

Piper cut in, moving next to Nick.  “Imagine our surprise, when Daisy pulls Nick over and tells us the people we’re looking for are up in Hancock’s office as we speak.”

Hancock turned to Nick. “You know, if it wasn’t you she’d told I’d be just a little annoyed with neighborhood security right now.” He shifted to glance out a window.  There were crowds mulling about, talking excitedly.  Well, it never had been a town for peace, or for staying in your own lane.  His kinda people.

“No escaping it now, huh?” Preston asked, visibly worried.  “I guess news will just keep spreading.”

“Looks like it.  The whole Commonwealth will know by tomorrow.” Piper folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the wall, between Nick and Preston.  “So, what now?”

“Actually, we’ve got a plan in action already,” Hancock grinned at Piper.  She just looked annoyed.  “See—”

The door opened again.  The group turned to face the doorway.

“Oh, mondieu, my apologies!”  Curie hurriedly shut the door again, and knocked.

“Uh, come in,” Hancock answered.

The door opened again, and Curie stepped back into the room.  “I am sorry, but I was in such a rush after hearing the news!”  She hurried towards the group. “Is it true, has he truly been killed?” 

“Yeah,” Hancock replied, bracing for an unknown emotional response from Curie.

She stopped, taking a moment for the words to reach her.  Her eyes welled up.  The others could see the sadness spread across her face.  She put her hands up to cover her mouth, and silent tears begin to run down her cheeks.

Hancock looked helplessly at Nick for mediation. 

Before anyone could figure out what to do, Curie caught sight of Deacon behind the others, and her expression changed as she whirled on him.  “And you?” she was something between furious and heartbroken.  “You killed him?”

Deacon stayed silent, but gave her a nod.

“Why!  How could you do such a thing?  He was your friend!”  Curie tried to reach Deacon, but the others collectively stepped between them.  Nick caught Curie.  She tried to push past him, but he wouldn’t let her go.  She only fought for a moment before collapsing into sobs against his chest.  “How, how could you do this to him?” her voice was muffled as she continued to sob into Nick’s worn trench coat.  “He was your friend!”  She sounded so lost and hopeless.  She looked up at Nick, tear stained face red and pleading.  “Monsieur Valentine, you were his friend as well.  Why?  Why do you stand by the man who killed Sole?  Why do you not…?”

Nick Valentine looked back at Curie, and put an arm around her shoulder sympathetically.  “It’s alright, Curie.  I know you loved him, but Sole wasn’t the man you thought.  He deceived a lot of people.  He killed his own friends—Deacon’s friends—the Railroad.  Tried to kill him too.  Deacon was only defending himself, and putting an end to Sole’s killing spree.” 

“No!  It cannot be!  He had, he—“  Curie’s shoulders shook in silence for a few seconds as she choked back whatever she’d been about to say.

Nick watched her sadly for a moment.  “I’m sorry.”

Curie looked up into his eyes for a painful second, then buried her head against his chest before speaking again.  “I know, I know…I just did not want to believe it.”  She raised her head again, slowly this time, Nick’s hand still on her shoulder.  It took her blurry red eyes a second to find Deacon.  Preston and Hancock were still between her and him.  When she finally made eye contact, her face crumpled, and tears started to fall again.  “I am sorry.  I did not—I do not know what to think.”

“It’s alright.  I liked him too,” Deacon replied.  He looked away.

Curie tried to nod, then buried her face in Nick’s coat again, and everyone stood there in awkward half-silence.  Finally, Piper walked over and hesitantly patted Curie’s back.

“Hey, it’ll be okay, Curie.”  She didn’t really know what to say.

Curie came back out of the coat and rubbed her eyes with an arm, trying to completely regain her composure.  “Merci, Miss Piper.”  She stood upright and awkwardly clasped her hands in front of herself.  “I am sorry for my outburst, I am no longer angry.  I am just sad.  I think I would like to just sit down for a moment, if that is alright?”

Hancock nodded, looking relieved.  “Sure, Curie.”

Curie inclined her head, then moved to a chair on the side of the room, by the door, and sat down.  Deacon watched her go.

“Curie.” It was Nick’s voice.  Deacon looked back at him.  His face was concerned and intense.  “How did you know we were here?”

“I…was not sure, but, it was what the radio said.”  Curie tilted her head, thinking.  “I heard rumors, in Bunker Hill—I was discussing medical treatment there when Doctor Weathers’ caravan arrived with news.  I did not believe it at first, but even the radio was saying the same thing, and usually they are at least fairly accurate with the news, so…I came.”

“The radio?  Diamond City radio?”  Piper’s eyes widened.  She hurried over to the radio on Hancock’s desk and turned it on.

“—and the rio…uh…uproar has lasted for several hours now.  The Mayor’s Office is asking citizens to remain calm, but Diamond City Security is on the lookout.”  Travis Miles sounded even more lost and worried than he usually did, which was saying something.  “The Commonwealth ‘Minutemen’ have yet to offer an official response, but word is, some members are…uh…deserting?  And some of, well actually most, that is—the, I guess, “acting General?” for the Minutemen, and the rest of the group, are holing up at The Castle.  Now idea how—how that’s all going to end.  I, I don’t know.  It’s all a little hard to believe.  But.  We are getting more and more reports that the Vault Dweller did get into a fight, and was killed, uh, re-reportedly, by the last member of the illusive group ‘The Railroad,’ who, uh, well, I-I thought they were all dead.  But, there was one left.  And it looks like, he killed the Vault Dweller?  And then, a Minuteman patrol picked him up, and—and I mean, if all this is true, which, I—I’m not saying it is!—then, the uh, patrol-group, they went to Goodneighbor.  I-I’m not sure why?  But…uh…according to reports, they’re there right now?  So…”

“Goddammit Travis!”  Piper slammed her fist onto the radio, temporarily changing Travis’ words to static.  She turned the volume on it down and turned to the others.  “So much for subterfuge.”

“Did he say there were riots going on in Diamond City?” Nick asked, moving closer.

“Sounded like it,” Hancock replied.  “I wouldn’t be surprised, especially after seeing it today.  The people of Diamond City have always liked a good witch hunt more than anything else the menu has to offer.”

Piper shot him a look.

“Well, either way, it sounds like things aren’t good with the Minutemen.”  Preston looked really worried.  “I need to get to the Castle and talk to them, or they’re all going to fall apart.”  Then, quieter, he added “They might anyway.”

“No,” Deacon pushed off from the wall and walked over to Preston.  It wasn’t easy—actually it had been a terrible decision—but he managed to make it the few steps over to Preston still upright, doing his best to make it look like he wasn’t on the verge of collapsing.  “If you make it to the Castle, you can convince them.  You convinced your Men here, didn’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but…”

“You got this.”  Deacon put his good hand on Preston’s shoulder.  From the corner of his eye, he saw Curie looking at him, and the bandage on his good hand.  Her eyes moved to what was remained of his left hand, and she quickly looked away, sickened.  He couldn’t blame her, that’d been his reaction when he’d seen it himself.  Deacon focused on Preston again.  His head was still pounding from the effort of walking.  _Focus._   “Just, take Andrews with you, or that girl—the one who gave that rallying speech earlier.”

“Yeah…yeah, okay.  I’ll do that.”  Preston slowly agreed, then turned to Hancock.  “But, what about X6-88?”

“Yeah, before you go running off, we should deal with him,” said Hancock.  “What’s taking your Minuteman so long?”

Hancock’s question was answered by the sound of a commotion outside.  The collected party heard a laser musket go off.

“What the hell?”  Hancock jumped over his coffee table and make a B-line for the balcony door.  He flung it open to see three Minutemen dragging a very awake, very irate, Courser with them.  There was a crowd of angry citizens hanging around them, several of them seemed to have been throwing things at the Courser, who was engaged in a shouting match with them.  One of the Minutemen had his rifle pointed in the air, tip still smoking.  Preston joined Hancock on the balcony just as the Minuteman with the rifle began to shout over the din.

“Everybody, calm down!  He will be brought to justice, but we need him alive for information right now!”

“You heard him!”  Hancock shouted down.  The crowd stopped and looked up at him.  A little reluctantly, the backed off.

“You’re going to have to go farther than that if you want to survive, once the institute arrives here and burns this place to the ground,”  X6-88 called coldly after the retreading people of Goodneighbor.  Once of them chucked a rock in response.  It hit the Courser right in the mouth, busting open his lips.

The three Minutemen hurriedly dragged X6-88 into the Old State House, and up the steps.  Hancock moved and met them at the door.

“Bring him in!” Piper watched Hancock shout to the Minutemen as they reached him.  This wasn’t the first time she’d seen X6-88.  She recognized him immediately, as the Minutemen dragged him in and shoved him to the ground.  She hated that annoying little sociopathic asshole.  He liked watching people get hurt—animals, too.  She had been in a scrap with him and Sole once, soon after Sole joined the Institute—back when he was still working, at least in name, for the Railroad.  A radscorpion had come at X6-88, out of nowhere, but Dogmeat had been with them, and knocked it out of the way.  X6-88 hadn’t even been scratched, but Dogmeat took a hit from the scorpion and had let out a yelp.  And X6-88 had actually smiled.  He’d even let out an almost inaudible little laugh—but she’d heard it.  Who the fuck did that.  When a dog was in trouble?  A dog?  Even someone a little sadistic, like Hancock, would have been shooting the scorpion down, and then comforting the dog.  Only someone seriously fucked up was an asshole to dogs.

Piper noticed Deacon out of the corner of her eyes.  She’d heard that X6-88 had been the Courser that accompanied Sole, helped him finish off Railroad HQ.  Deacon’s face was stony and emotionless.  He didn’t take his eyes off the Courser for a second.  Piper wished she could think of something to say.  How do you apologize to someone, for the loss of everyone they know?  She couldn’t imagine what it would be like.  If Sole had waltzed into Diamond City and opened fire, killed everyone—killed Nat.  Piper shivered.  She’d been having dreams like that for days now.  But for Deacon, it was real.  And she couldn’t do anything to make that kind of nightmare better, couldn’t make that reality go away.

“What’s all this about that one?”  Nick asked Hancock, indicating X6-88.

“Oh, we got big plans for him.”  Hancock grinned.  “He’s our ticked inside the Institute.”

X6-88 glared up at Hancock, and his voice was cold.  “You’d better pray you have a backup plan, because I’m not giving you anything.”

“The Institute?” Nick asked.

“Wait, you’re actually doing it?  Taking the fight to them?”  Piper asked, grabbing Preston’s arm. 

Preston nodded.  “We’re going to see if we can use his—”

“—the Institute isn’t going to fall for that Courser chip trick twice.”  X6-88 cut in. The Courser had been shoved down onto his knees.  His broken arms were securely tied behind his back, his ankles were shackled, and there was a matted clump of dried blood around the wound on his head, but somehow he still looked deadly.

“Doesn’t matter.” Deacon spoke up for the first time in awhile.  He looked at Nick and Piper.  “We’re going to get help from Doctor Amari, sift through his memories.”

“Ah, a good plan.”  Nick nodded slowly.  “Is there some way we can help?”

Curie sat in silence, watching everything unfold.  The Courser on the ground had a reaction she couldn’t quite place, to what Deacon said about memories.  It seemed to her almost like the facial expression equivalent of watching someone swallow nervously. 

The Minutemen who’d brought X6-88 in had moved him a decent way into the room, which left her as the person closest to the door to Hancock’s office.  Which meant she was the one who jumped and let out a yelp when the door to the office suddenly flung open with a loud bang.

At the sound of the door slamming open, the assorted people in the room turned to look, as Cait marched in.  She looked mad as hell.

“You!”  Cait jabbed a finger at the group.  Several people made gestures questioning if they were the intended target of her anger.  “Deacon,” Cait clarified angrily.

“Cait, I think it’s for the best if we don’t fight this out right here and—” Hancock started.

“—Oh, lay off, Hancock.  I’m not here to pick a fight with you.  I want to talk to Deacon.  I see the rumors were right—you’re still alive,” Cait said to Deacon, trying to get a good look at him. She had gotten pretty close to the group, which had collectively taken a protective step towards Deacon as she advanced.  Preston was half blocking Deacon’s sight line on her.  Cait finally stopped just in front of Hancock.  “Would you mind terribly, moving?” 

Piper thought Cait was definitely going to throw him out of the way if he didn’t.

“What do you want?”  Preston asked.

“I want to help,” Cait almost snorted.  The announcement was greeted by similarly confused faces around the room.  “Look,” Cait continued in annoyance, after a moment of silence “I hated that god damn bastard as much as any of you do, and I’m glad he’s dead.  Now that he’s dead and gone, you’re all planning on taking the fight to his people—yeah?  The Institute?  I want to help.”

“Why?”  Piper was suspicious.  This was unlike Cait.  Well—at least, as far as she knew.

“Because I’m fuckin’ pissed!”  Cait whirled on Piper.  “That sorry excuse for a man needed to burn in hell, and I’m glad he is!  As pissed as I am I wasn’t the one who got to take him down, I figure the next best thing is helping the group flinging mud at his grave really twist the knife.  Besides, I’m glad to burn down the Institute.  Bastards’ll get what’s coming to them.”

“This sounds personal.” Nick was studying Cait. 

“Yeah, surprise!  It is!  But it’s none of your god damn business.”  Cait didn’t sound any _more_ vicious than usual, but she sounded very final on that.

“It’s alright.  I think she’s on the level.” 

Deacon again.  The others turned to look, at the sound of his voice.  Hancock glanced at Deacon, then Preston, then moved out of Cait’s way. Preston moved a little, but hung close.

“Deacon, you look like shit.”  Cait said, stepping forward.  She smiled, for the first time since she’d arrived.

“Thanks, I feel like shit.”  Deacon half-smiled back. 

“Hell of a job—killing Sole, I mean.  You’ll have to tell me the whole story sometime.  Damn though, looks like it was a pretty close run thing.” 

“Well, I was already going to kill the guy,” Deacon offered.  “Making it look easy would have been rubbing salt in his wounds.”

“Cute,” Cait turned to look at X6-88, who glared back.  “I thought that thing was supposed to be dead.”  She looked accusingly at Preston.

“For now, we need him.  To find a way into the Institute,” Preston replied.  “Speaking of which, I guess we should head over to the Memory Den and get started?”

“Yeah,” Hancock stretched.  “Amari’s on her way over here right now.  Not sure how long the whole thing will take, so Fahrenheit sent some guys over there to fortify a little—in case we get attacked in the middle of something.  Figured that’d take a bit—it’s why I decided to go ahead and bring him up here while we wait on them to clear the Den out.  Talk over some things.  You know, before we got into the muddy bits.”

“Whatever you think you’re going to find, you won’t.  There’s nothing in my memories that will help you get inside the Institute.”  X6-88 was firm.  “You don’t have a leg to stand on.  The Institute will mobilize soon, and all of you will be dead.”

“Jesus,” Cait said.  “If he ain’t even more of a peach than I remembered.  I hope keeping him alive is worth it.” 

Huh, maybe Piper was starting to like Cait.

 “Any more old friends about to kick in the door we should know about?” Nick asked Cait.  “We’ve already got a pretty full crowd, but it seems like everyone Sole ever traveled with flipped on their radio this morning and decided to make a B-line for Goodneighbor.”

“Not that I saw, although I’m surprised MacCready isn’t here.  Thought he was in town,” Cait replied.

“He ain’t made an appearance yet,” said Hancock.  He took a quick glance out the window again.

“There’s a whole mess of people outside he didn’t travel with, though,” continued Cait.  “All hanging around, waiting to see someone shoot someone else.” 

Piper moved past Hancock and looked out the window too.  Cait was right.  She’d never seen Goodneighbor so crowded.

“Dammit.  Nick’s right.  Everyone with a bone to pick is going to head right for us.” Preston was angry with himself for not having been more careful.

“When I see Travis…” Piper didn’t know what she’d do.  Maybe kick him.

“Speaking of which,” Nick said.  “Probably best you and Deacon move on to somewhere safer than Goodneighbor, soon as we get this business with Doctor Amari sorted out.” 

There was a knock at the door. 

“Come in.”  Hancock was hoping it was Amari, but at this point he was ready to be disappointed.

“Pardon me, but is Mister Deacon here?”

“Codsworth?”  Nick’s disbelieving voice was the one to answer.

Deacon quietly hid behind Preston.

The old Mr. Handy floated noisily into the room. 

Hancock put a hand on his shotgun and looked at Nick.

Nick took a step forward.

“Ah, Mister Valentine!  Dreadfully sorry, but I heard the news on the street, and, of course, I wasn’t sure whether to believe it or not, but.  Well, I thought I should find out, and here I am.  I was hoping Mister Deacon would be here?  Miss K.L.E.O down the street at _Kill or Be Killed_ told me I could find him here.  Ah, there you are!”

One of the three eyes had finally managed to catch sight of Deacon.  For a second Preston thought Codsworth was looking at him.  When he looked to his side where Deacon had been, the space was empty, and the man had vanished.  He looked around in surprise, and it took him a second to find Deacon behind him.  When he did, Deacon almost looked embarrassed for a split second, then silently stepped out from behind Preston.

Preston glanced from Deacon to the robot, then moved in front of him again.  Deacon looked up at Preston’s back in surprise.

Codsworth flew closer.  This was the first time Cait had been really, deeply interested in something the Mr. Handy had done. 

No one knew what to expect.  He had been incredibly loyal to Sole.  Waited 200 years for him to crawl out of a vault.  Codsworth would probably have followed him to the ends of the earth and back, if asked.  It was quite likely he would react like Curie, only if he did, he’d be about six times as dangerous, because he was packing a buzzsaw, a flame thrower, and an armored motal body.  But, he didn’t seem angry.  Yet.  It was hard to tell what was going on inside that tarnished metal frame.

“It’s true, then?”  Codsworth swung his torso slowly to look from Nick to Piper.  “My Master, he’s been killed?”

“Yeah, it’s true.”  Piper had spent some time with Codsworth, when she and Sole had stayed in Sanctuary Hills together.  When she—they—had been happy…  Her voice towards the robot was consoling.  She didn’t want to have to fight him—god, not after everything.  _Please._   “He’s dead, Codsworth.”

“And,” the robot turned again, looking at Deacon for a second with all three eyes, then back at Piper. “It was…”

“It was self-defense, Codsworth.  Sole, he—he changed.”  Piper’s final words sounded broken and empty.  She hadn’t meant to let them out that way.  _God damn it, no. Not here, not with all these people._   Piper cupped her right hand in her left.  It still stung from…

“Yes,” Codsworth’s voice was full of regret.  “There is an old saying, that blood runs thicker than water.  I had hoped that my Master would have come to realize the truth in that.  The blood of friendship is indeed thicker than the water of the womb.  As tragic as the events of his family tragedy were, and the outcome of young Shaun’s upbringing.  Still, certainly in situations like this, one must come to realizations.”  His eyes shifted focus back to Deacon.  “I was on amicable terms with several members of your organization.  I cannot express enough sorrow for your loss.”

Deacon inclined his head, accepting the apology.  He saw the tension go out of Preston’s shoulders.  He hadn’t expected so many people to be taking his side in all this.

“I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.  Killing one of the settlers staying at Sanctuary Hills, on a mission with that one there,” he indicated X6-88 with his clawed arm.  “I knew things were deeply wrong.  And, of course, Miss Piper’s word on the matter.  I know you would never lie about Sir.”

“No Codsworth, and I’d give anything for this not to be the truth,” Piper said, then awkwardly stretched out a hand and patted the robot on his head.  She wasn’t really sure how to comfort a Mr. Handy.

“Well, it’s done then.  He has made his bed, and laid in it.” Codsworth turned back to Deacon, his tone still sad.  “If there is any way I can be of service to you, I would be glad to assist in bringing about some form of reparations for the actions of my late master.”

“Thanks, Codsworth, I’ll let you know if I think of something.”  Deacon couldn’t come up with anything better to say.

Codsworth started to hover off, but stopped and looked back at Deacon.  “Mister Deacon, did Sir give you those wounds?”

“Yeah.  Well, mostly.  The angry Courser on the floor did break my new nose.”

“I’m sure it’ll look rakishly handsome once it heals,” Cait said encouragingly.

“Oh dear.  I am terribly sorry about all of this.”  Codsworth said, sounding deeply regretful.  He then floated off and hung in the air a few feet from Piper, quiet as a hovering Mr. Handy could be.

“Sole killed a settler?” Preston asked, turning to Piper.   “In Sanctuary Hills?”

“Uh, yeah.  It’s kind of a long story.”  Piper rubbed her forehead.  She hadn’t wanted to remember this right now.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”  Preston looked genuinely hurt, and it made Piper’s chest ache.

“Sorry, Preston.  I just—I knew things were hard enough on you as it was.  I knew what you—what we—thought we might have to do, and I guess I didn’t want you to have more on your conscience then you already did.  I wanted to know for you.”  She spoke quietly, but it was a small room.

“Piper,” Preston put his hand on her shoulder “you shouldn’t try to carry a burden like that by yourself.  Especially now.  We’re all together on this.”

“Straight down the end of the line,” Deacon chimed in, surprisingly serious, almost like he was promising the inevitable.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

Piper looked up to see the voice’s owner, Nick Valentine, giving his warm, reassuring smile.

“Right. Sorry.  So, where were we?”  Piper straightened up and tried to reassume her casual tone.

“We were waiting for Amari to get here, and it is taking her goddamn forever.”  Hancock was restless.  He needed to get moving.  “I’m gonna go get her.  The rest of you, don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone,” he paused at the door and grinned at them “because I’d really hate to miss it.”

X6-88 had been quiet for a couple of minutes now.  He was watching the group intently, with a cold, murderous look.  Curie was sitting a little closer to him than she decided she liked, so she got up and quietly moved to a chair closer to the rest of the group.

“You know,” Nick turned to Preston. “Even if we can find a way into the institute, that’s only half the problem.  We don’t have enough firepower between us to take them all on alone.”

“Hmph, naturally, the synth is the only one with even the base tactical insight to point that out,” X6-88’s expression was like his tone—superior, cold, deadly.

“I thought you considered synths second class citizens.” Piper said, turning to him and putting her hands on her hips.

X6-88 narrowed his eyes, but didn’t say anything.

“Nick has a point.” Preston moved back to the earlier topic.  “Even if we get in, we’re going to need some serious firepower.  We don’t even really know much about how big, or armed, the Institute is.  Deacon?”

Deacon tilted his head in thought.  “Not much.  Sole wasn’t big on oversharing.  But we can bet they’re armed to the teeth, have a whole buttload of gen 1 and gen 2 synths, plus at least a platoon of Coursers.”

“We can rally the Minutemen,” Preston decided, thinking hard.  “If we get our soldiers together, then maybe it’ll be enough.”

“But if you take all your soldiers out of the Commonwealth, who will protect the people?” Piper asked worriedly.

“She has a point.  At least, this one seems to be quite sure the rest of his people will be here soon to raise hell,” Nick agreed.  “We need to find a way to protect the people here, and fight back.”

“Well, you’ve got Goodneighbor behind you.”  They had all completely forgotten Fahrenheit.  She’d been hanging in the shadows way at the edge of the room the whole time.  Most of them hadn’t even realized she was in there.  Piper nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Jesus, how long were you there?” Piper asked.

Fahrenheit smiled.  “The whole time.”  Hancock’s bodyguard held eye contact with Piper and took a slow drag on her cigarette, feeling confident in the knowledge that she could have murdered anyone in the room.

Cait glanced at the other woman’s huge gatling gun.  Not a bad piece of work.

The door re-opened, and Hancock walked back in.

“Met her on the way over.  Damn crowd’s about to riot,” Hancock didn’t really sound worried.   “Fahrenheit?”

As Doctor Amari entered behind Hancock, the bodyguard pushed off the wall and walked over to her employer.  She smiled down at him.  “I’ve got it handled, Hancock.”

He grinned back up.  “Godspeed.”

Fahrenheit stepped out and closed the door behind her.

“So, you’ve got another crazy job for me, I hear?” Amari asked, looking around the group.  “Ah, Mister Valentine.”

“Not my idea this time, Amari,” Nick smiled, walking over to greet her.  “This one is all Deacon.”

“Deacon?” Hey eyes widened.  He waved from back behind Preston.  “My God, you really are still standing.  Are you alright?”  He nodded.  Amari took a deep breath and continued.  “I suppose all of this is true, then?”

“Can you do it, Doc?”  Deacon asked.  “We need to sift through that Courser’s memories for anything useful we can find.  Anything that might help us get into the Institute.”

“The Institute?” Amari let out a breath and rubbed the bridge of her nose.  This was dangerous territory.  She looked up and met Deacon’s intense gaze.  She sighed.  “Of course.  Actually, this will be a good bit easier than the last memory hunt I performed.  It may take some amount of time, though.  And drugs, to make him more…uh…cooperative, to the process.”

X6-88 turned his head to try and glare up at Amari, but she was too far behind him for him to really be able to see.

Amari took a moment to ask over some of the particulars, and about the time she finished Fahrenheit walked back in, Andrews, another Minuteman, and one member of the neighborhood watch were with her.

“All ready, then?  Let’s go.”  Hancock grinned when he saw them come in.

“We need to clear everyone out of the Memory Den first,” Amari said, thinking aloud.

“Fahrenheit’s been on it,” Hancock replied.

Fahrenheit nodded.  “It’s been taken care of.  And, at least for the moment, people are standing down outside.”  She walked over and joined her boss, the Neighborhood Watch guard at her side.  Andrews and the other Minuteman joined Preston, and started quietly conversing about the situation at the Castle.

“Well, alright then, let’s get this crazy plan in action.”  Amari was as ready as she would ever be.  As she turned to reach for the door, it flew open, smacking her hand aside as she took a step back in pain and surprise.

Robert Joseph MacCready stood in the doorway, rifle leveled, breathing hard, and radiating anger.

Hancock could hear shouts from the Neighborhood watch, coming from downstairs.

“Told ya he was in town,” came Cait’s voice, from the back of the room.

“Where is he?” MacCready shouted. He turned to Hancock.  “They said you had him up here somewhere—You!” the young man had spotted Deacon, standing in the back of the room by Preston.  He took an angry step forward, swinging his gun up and aiming for Deacon’s head.

Eleven guns, a flamethrower, and a baseball bat swung up and leveled at MacCready’s chest in a unified response. 

MacCready stopped.  Sure, two of those eleven guns were Hancock’s, but he still didn’t like these odds.  He took a quick step backwards out of the room, and closed the door behind himself, ducking for cover against one of the room’s exterior walls, in case they tried to blindly shoot him through the door.

He could hear Neighborhood watch coming up the stairs.

“MacCready get your ass back in here!” Hancock shouted.  “We’re not going to gun you down, just lower your rifle and let’s talk this out.”

Hancock heard the neighborhood watch then, too.  “Oh, shit,” he whispered under his breath.  “Men, hold your fire!” he called, crossing for the door.

The door opened just before he reached it.  Hancock jumped back and leveled both of his sawed-off shotguns, just in case.  MacCready reentered the room, rifle lowered, but still gripped tightly in one hand.  He held the other hand up.  “Okay, don’t shoot.  But I don’t think talking is going to solve this.”

The Neighborhood watch reached the top of the stairs and skidded to a stop, guns ready.

“It’s okay guys, we got this.”  Hancock waved the security off.  The Neighborhood Watchman behind Hancock nodded at his friends, and they resignedly headed back down the stairs.

MacCready stood tensely just within the room.  He looked over at the mayor accusingly as he shut the door. “So, you want to explain to me why you’re stopping me from putting him down, Hancock?”

No one could tell, of course, but Hancock was probably rolling his eyes.  “You know, MacCready, you’re actually not the first person today to ask me that.  I hope you’re the last though, I’m getting pretty sick of it.”

“Deacon killed Sole in self-defense.  The man walked into Railroad HQ after months of working with them, and killed everyone in sight.  He was hunting Deacon down so he could do the same to him.  You can’t tell me you think Sole was in the right here.”  Preston had moved over to get Deacon behind him again when MacCready had first entered the room, and he still stood directly between them.

“Oh, cry me a river.  The Railroad were no friends of mine.  If Sole killed them, I’m sure he had a reason,” MacCready’s fist was clenched so tightly around his rifle that his knuckles were white.

“What kind of **good** reason can you have for killing a bunch of innocent people—for siding with the Institute?” The anger was seeping out of Piper’s voice.

“Plenty, I’m sure.” MacCready’s tone matched her own. “I mean, I’ve never been big on the Institute, but if Sole thought we were wrong about them, then--”

“Then what?  You’d do anything he told you, without question?”  Piper shouted back, balling her fists.  Huh, maybe Cait liked Piper even more than she’d realized.

“You’re one to talk!  Where do you get off betraying him?  You were his wife,” MacCready shot back.  “What kind of person tells someone they love him, then stabs him in the back?  How do you justify helping his murderer? ”

“Oh, shut the hell up, MacCready.”  Cait closed the distance between them almost instantly.  “I hope you haven’t got your head as far up your ass as you’re acting like.”

MacCready was taken aback—not just by Cait’s anger, but by the sudden appearance of her face inches away from his own.  He took an involuntary step back.

“You think Sole’s some kind of God because he came out of nowhere and solved all your problems—but let me tell you, he didn’t do any of it for you.  Not one bit.  He was just havin some fun.”  Cait grabbed his collar.  “You think you’re so much better than her, because you’re stickin’ by him?  Oh yeah?  Well, you’re not.  You’re just a damn fool as can’t see he’s being used.  You don’t know Sole at all.”

“What?”  MacCready tried to pry her hand off his collar and pull away.  “Get off of me!  I thought you were his friend too, Cait?  What’s--” he tried to wrench away from her again “wrong with you all?”

“Do you know what he did.”  Hancock’s voice was like steel.  “In the Third Rail.”

“I—Uh...Not.  Exactly...”  He had only heard a piece of it, and knew there was an explanation.  There had to be.  He knew Sole.  No matter what the others did or thought, they were wrong.  Sole was a good man.  Undeservingly good.  “But I know he must have…had a reason.”

Meeting Hancock’s eyes was like staring down a bolt of lighting.

Cait was still holding MacCready by the collar.  “I don’t know what Sole did for you, but if you think he wouldn’t undo it in a second if he was alive and it struck his fancy, think again.  He’d do anything he wanted, right here, right now, just for the hell of it.  You were just a spot of fun.”

MacCready finally freed himself from Cait’s death grip and shoved himself back a step.  He looked into Cait’s furious eyes.  “What the hell did he do to you?”

“Something I’m never forgetting.”  Cait said coolly, standing her ground. 

“Sole wouldn’t betray me,” MacCready said firmly.  “He always had my back, and I’ll be damned if I’m about to stab his.  You should all feel the same!  You were all his friends!”

“MacCready,” Hancock moved past Cait and put a firm hand on his shoulder.  “You and me, need to have words.  Alone.”

MacCready was uncertain, and radiating it.

“I ain’t gonna shoot you.  Besides, you really think you’ll be less safe with just me?”

“Well, I guess.”  MacCready still wasn’t convinced. 

“Some things I want to make sure you understand, and I understand, you feel me?”  Hancock opened the door to his office as he spoke, and stepped out.  He paused, and waited for MacCready to make a move.  “Come on, MacCready.  I thought you were my pal, too—part of Goodneighbor for awhile.  Not going to hear me out?”

“Fine.”  MacCready said.  “But I expect this will end with a fight.”

Hancock grinned.  “Yeah, for sure, but hopefully we’ll be on the same side of it.”

MacCready reluctantly stepped out after the Mayor.  Hancock turned one final time before closing the door.  “You all go ahead and get started.  I’ll join you soon.”

Preston nodded, and the door closed behind Hancock.

“What do you think he’s going to say?” Deacon asked no one in particular.

“Why knows?  Maybe he’ll bribe him.”  Cait crossed her arms across her chest.  “Works for most people.”

“Well?” Amari asked after a moment.  “Let’s do as he suggests, and get preparations started.”

Fahrenheit nodded to the Neighborhood Watchman and the two dragged X6-88 back up and out the door.  He was still fighting back, but anyone could tell he was wearing out faster each time.

Preston finished conversing with Andrews and the other Minuteman, and turned to Nick.  “I’m going to go talk with the other Minutemen first.  I’ll meet you all over there.”

Valentine nodded.  “Alright.  Piper, Amari, Deacon.  Cait, you want to join us?”

“What exactly are you doing?” Cait asked.

“Plugging X6-88 into a Memory Lounger and looking for intel,” Piper replied.

“So…He’s probably going to put a fight, yeah?”  Cait asked, looking more interested.

“Undoubtably,” Deacon replied.

“Might be worth taggin’ along, then.”  Cait grinned.

“Curie?”  Nick hadn’t forgotten her.  She still sat on a chair in the corner of the room in contemplative silence.

“Oui?”  She hadn’t been listening.  She’d been thinking.

“Where will you go, for now?”  Nick asked.

Cure considered.  “I will…I do not know, Monsieur Valentine.  I think I will stay here for now.  If you think, this would be alight, no?”

“I’m sure Hancock won’t mind.”  Nick gently put a hand on her shoulder.  “If you need us, we’ll be at the Memory Den.  And take care—the crowd outside is just a little hostile.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t want to get your pretty little head knocked off,” Cait chimed in “better stay put.”

“Codsworth?”  Nick asked, turning to the old robot. 

“I think I shall stay here as well, for the time being.  However, I do wish you all the best of luck on your mission.” 

Piper smiled at the robot.  “You take care, okay?”

“I shall indeed, Miss Piper.”

Nick, Piper, Cait, and Deacon headed out, following Doctor Amari.  Cait and Codsworth watched them go.

Once they were gone, Codsworth’s limbs went slack and he hung in the air, not saying or doing anything.  Curie pulled her knees up to her chest and sat in a ball, studying the unmoving floor.

After a few minutes, Codsworth pulled himself out of thought and floated quietly over to her.

“Pardon me, Miss Curie.  Are you alright?”

Curie looked up.  “Oh, Monsieur Codsworth.  Yes, I am fine.  Just a little full of thinking.”

“I have grown to know that feeling well,” Codsworth replied.  “Are you quite sure you are alright?  Could I perhaps get you a cup of tea?”

“Do you have some?” she asked in surprise. 

“I have most of the supplies, and I am quite sure I can make do.”  His voice was confident.

“That would be most kind of you.  Merci.”  Curie sat back and watched as Codsworth managed to pull together a fresh cup of tea for her, in the midst of the dilapidated state house that served as a mayoral office, 200 years after the end of the world.  Quite the mechanical marvel, Monsieur Codsworth.  Like all RobCo robots.  It was good to have someone so familiar being kind to her.  Deeply reassuring, in a way she could not quite articulate.

For a few minutes, Curie quietly sipped her tea as Codsworth floated nearby, and, just for a few minutes, they were both at some sort of peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this very long chapter was enjoyable. A lot of introductions, but individuals will get their fare shares of time soon enough. Also, thank you for the feedback! Always encouraging.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team fishes for information in X6-88's head and formulates a risky plan.

Chapter 6

Deacon watched Doctor Amari work.  He’d been to the Memory Den before—plenty of times.  Intel.  Railroad Missions.  With Sole.  For fun.  Never saw quite the same thing twice.  Today promised to be no exception.

Fahrenheit and the Neighborhood Watchman had left X6-88 on the floor in the middle of the Doc’s back room.  At this point he was worn down from struggling, but still looked just as angry and focused as ever.  It had taken Fahrenheit, the Watchman, and the Doc to keep him still while she injected him with whatever it was she was using to calm him down.  Whatever drug had been in the syringe, it was taking some time to kick in.  That, or X6-88 was just really good at fighting it.  It had been about six minutes since he’d been injected, and he was only just now finally starting to show some sign that it was working.  He’d been fighting them every step of the way, and this was the first time Deacon had seen him look anything like worried.  Something akin to that emotion was flickering across his face, off and on, as he struggled to remain conscious—blinking furiously, gritting his teeth.  Deacon could see the concentration etched on his forehead.  But he was losing to the drug, and he knew it.

Cait had enjoyed watching the Courser try to 3v1 Fahrenheit, the Watchman, and Doctor Amari while bound, but had since lost interest and was walking around, poking through Amari’s stuff.  Across the room, Nick and Piper were helping Amari with something. 

And Preston, Preston still wasn’t back from speaking with the other Minutemen.  Deacon wondered what sort of idea they were putting together.  The situation at The Castle needed to be dealt with quickly, or the Minutemen would fall apart.  But, what exactly would Preston do to keep them together?

“Alright, help me get him into the lounger.”  At Amari’s words, Fahrenheit and the Watchman picked up the now only semi-conscious X6-88, and set him down in a memory lounger, carefully strapping him to the seat.  X6-88 still struggled, but feebly now.  He was barely keeping his eyes open.  It was almost pathetic.

Once he was securely in the pod, Amari got to work.  Deacon watched Fahrenheit move over to join her and the others by a monitor.

“Give me a minute to sift through this for relevant memories,” Amari said, shooing most of them back. 

“Are you going to have to use a proxy again?”  Piper asked, trying to get a look at the monitor from back a few feet.

“Hopefully not,” Amari replied.  She tapped out a few things on a keyboard, studying he screen thoughtfully.

Deacon leaned against the wall behind them for support, trying to look casual.  His chest ached and his left ear was all foggy.  He couldn’t tell if he could hear out of it at all, or if his mind was just playing tricks on him and he was still deaf in it.  His hand worried him more, though.  His left one.  Andrews had stitched it back together, but he couldn’t _feel_ it.  At all.  No pain, no nothing.  And he couldn’t move his fingers.  It was…It was probably dead.  _Shit._

His thoughts drifted back to Preston.  It sucked for him.  The Minutemen had just started to be a real presence again.  Not that he’d ever been really crazy about them personally, but they could all sure use the group’s help right now.  And either way, Preston cared a whole hell of a lot, and now it was all falling apart. 

_Thanks to me._

The others had moved off a little to talk while waiting on Amari. Nick Valentine was a ways to his left, talking with Piper and Cait.  Deacon tried to focus on what they were saying.  Damn.  He really couldn’t hear anything out of that ear.  Good thing he could read lips.

“But why Diamond City?” he saw Nick’s lips move, forming the words.

“Exactly, it doesn’t make sense!” was his best guess at Piper’s reply.  “Why there?  When—”

Someone put a hand on his shoulder and Deacon lost track of Piper’s words.  He turned to find Preston was back.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”  Preston removed his hand from Deacon’s shoulder.

“Left ear is still ringing.”  Deacon was lying.  His left ear wasn’t picking up any sound at all, and now he knew it for sure.

“Right, sorry.”  Preston rubbed the back of his head.  “So, where are we with the memories?”

“Just starting,” Amari answered for him.  “This actually shouldn’t be too difficult.  It’s taking a little while to get oriented, and he’s pretty out of it, but I can tell he’s trying to not think about some things.  It’s actually making them a good deal easier to isolate.”  She paused and glanced around at the others.  “You can come over now.”

They did, crowding around the monitor to see X6-88’s memories.  They had only gone through three when Hancock appeared in the doorway, holding MacCready’s rifle.

Nick looked from Hancock to the rifle.  “How did it go?” 

Hancock grinned and stepped inside.  MacCready walked in cautiously behind him, casting suspicious looks at everyone.

“ _You_ , talked _him_ down?”  Piper was disbelieving.

“Hey, I’m not finished with anything—I’m just…withholding judgment.  Temporarily.”  MacCready folded his arms.  He felt naked without a weapon.

“Then why is he here,” Preston asked, sounding irritated.

“Hey,” Hancock put his hands up defensively “I’ve got his gun.  We had a little talk, and he wants to see X6-88’s memories of Sole for himself.  That’s all.  He’s not going to kill anyone, right?”

MacCready looked unhappy.  “Yeah.  Whatever.”  He shoved his hands in his pockets.

“So, we cool?”  Hancock looked back at Preston. 

Preston sighed.  “Yeah, I guess so.  For now.  But if you try to start something…”

“Calm down, Preston.  I won’t, alright?  Now can we just get this over with?”  MacCready was defensive and on edge, but he followed Hancock over to join Amari at the monitor.  MacCready hung very close to Hancock.  Preston stayed firmly between him and Deacon.

“Do give me a little room to breathe,” Amari sounded a little annoyed herself.  “Also, this whole process may take longer than you expect.”

It did.  Sifting through memories took a couple of hours.  At first, everyone was fascinated by the memories of the Institute.  It was so bright and clean.  White and immaculate.  Nick, Piper, Amari, and Preston took notes.  Deacon took mental notes.  The drugs Amari had administered had both mostly knocked the Courser out, and caused some things, like logical reasoning, to be more difficult.  In spite of this, he had been trying his hardest not to think of anything compromising to the Institute.  Unfortunately, in his drugged up state, that mostly just meant he was thinking about not thinking about them, and thus, thinking about them.  Some of his other memories were also in the front of his mind, however. Things he must have been thinking about a lot recently. Mostly relating to Sole.  A lot of them were early memories, but there was a wide variety.  Meeting Sole, working with him.  It was strange for Deacon to see Sole like this.  He had been part of the Railroad when he met X6-88, acted like he cared about synths.  In those early memories, he talked to the Courser like he was a person—in spite of X6-88’s reserved, almost affrontingly cold approach.  It was so much like the Sole he had been used to.  It was like a bad dream.  He could tell, when the memories shifted to later memories, that Sole was changing.  His demeanor with the Courser—his actions.  They became more cold, more violent, more hard.  Detached.  That was the word he was looking for.  Calculated and detached.  Some of the later memories, Deacon caught Sole referring to X6-88 as “it” to a man in the institute, not “him.”  _“We took them out easily, that thing’s unparalleled at killing.”_ And Sole still grinning in his offhand, amicable default way. Couldn’t be even a year after the first memories.  Huh, how quickly thing change.  And the Courser seemed to like him more this way.

Working in the SRB, X6-88 had access to a good deal of more sensitive information.  They hit several potentially useful memories all right in a row.  Work crews on the surface, dates, details.  A few missions for X6-88—reclamations.  Security notes.  Construction going on inside the institute, as well as plans for several other surface missions.  More memories of Sole were mixed in.  They jumped back and forth.  It was…Deacon wasn’t even sure what.  Indescribable, maybe.  Watching Sole jump back and forth seamlessly from the man who’d been his friend to the man he’d killed.  None of it felt even remotely real.  He glanced over at Piper.  She didn’t look good.  Her face was set, but white as a ghost, and her hands were trembling.

The memories went on and on.  Cait got bored several times and got up to do other things.  Piper pulled a chair over.  Hancock capitalized on this and leaned on her chair the whole time, completely undeterred by the glares she frequently sent him.  After awhile, Nick decided to lean on the other side.  Preston tried to get Deacon a chair, but he was still doing his best to play off his injuries as better than they were, so Amari ended up being the one to use it.  After another fifteen minutes Deacon gave up partially on acting tough and used Amari’s chair to lean on.  MacCready started to lean on the other side of Amari’s chair, but Preston glared him away and took the spot to keep him out of it.  MacCready eventually got tired and sat on the floor.  Cait rejoined them to lean on the back of Piper’s chair and share snide comments off and on.  Piper fell asleep at least twice.  Finally, Amari pulled the plug.

“I think we’ve got everything we’re going to get.”  Amari leaned back in her chair and let out an exhausted sigh.  “We’ve certainly seen plenty.  And we don’t have the time to dig through everything.  Besides, anything too long, thorough, or against the subject’s will can cause some…permanent issues.”

“Is that a problem?  I mean.  What are we going to do with him, anyway?”  Piper asked, sitting up.  She was a little sore from falling asleep in the chair.

Preston shrugged.  “I think it’s plenty, though.  Thank you, Doctor.”

Amari nodded. 

“Well.  This isn’t going to be easy.”  Deacon was running details through his mind, again and again.  Answers.  There had to be a good solution in there somewhere.

“What should we do?”  Preston moved over to a table and sat on the edge of it. “We can’t hijack the relay like Sole did.  It looks like that truly  was a one-time only deal.  I was really hoping there’d just be some…back door or something he’d know about, but.  No such luck.  There are those surface details, though.”

“Right.  Two going on right now or about to start.”  Hancock moved from the side of Piper’s chair to the back and tapped a finger on it.  “But we can’t just hide in crates of junk they’re collecting and hope they relay us in.  According to this guy’s memory, they’re pretty thorough.”

“And usually if a surface detail is attacked, it looks like they just leave the Gen 1s to get shot down, rather than risk relaying them back,” Piper added, going over her notes.  “The group at Mass Fusion seem like they’re doing something very important, probably important enough that if we attacked them, they’d be retrieved instead of stranded.  But even so, we can’t just hold hands with one and hope to be teleported in with them.”

“And attacking them there is risky enough on its own,” Preston added. “Okay, so what else?”

Everyone was quiet for a minute.  Inside the Memory Lounger, X6-88 was becoming more awake.  They could hear him starting to fight with his restraints again.  Preston looked over and saw him glaring back. 

“Well, we could always try bombing it from the surface,” Hancock suggested.  He started to draw a crude map of the Commonwealth on one of Piper’s sheets of paper.  “See, it looks like the institute is deep underneath the old CIT building.”

“Yeah.  But it’s pretty far down, by the looks of it.  It’d take some seriously powerful bombs to do any damage to them from the surface.”  Preston moved over to study Hancock’s map.

“Right, but when Sole was working for the Brotherhood, he and Danse found this huge bomb silo up in the glowing sea.  Chock full of nukes.  Real ones—big ones!  From before the war.  All still active.”  Hancock marked the spot on the map.  “Now, I heard about it secondhand—after Sole left the brotherhood.  I know the Brotherhood had the nukes, but do you think they could possibly have taken them all?  And if there are more…”

“Well, it’s at least possible,” Preston agreed.  “But to get out to the glowing sea we’d need equipment.  And more than that, we’d need something to transport the bombs in, and to drop them with.  At the very least, a working vertibird.  And that’s if we didn’t get shot down attacking or transporting.  Assuming we can find some of the bombs.”

“Even then, it’s hardly an assured victory.”  Piper stood up and joined them by Hancock’s map.  “So many things could go wrong.  And we don’t exactly know how deep we need to bomb.”  She glanced at X6-88.  “Although it’s definitely worth a shot.”

X6-88 was livid.

“Not to mention, when you nuke something, there’s always quite the area of effect above ground to think about,” Amari added after a second.

“Among other problems, though, are a couple more I can think of.  One, we don’t have a Vertibird.  Second, we don’t have a piolet.”  It got very quiet again.  Preston looked around at the others.  “Any of you know how to fly one?”

Deacon shook his head.  There was a general consensus of “no” passed throughout the room. 

X6-88 smiled.  “Even with all your information, you still can’t do anything to stop the Institute.  I told you how this would end.”

Cait stood up, completely ignoring him.  “It’s a damn shame Sole killed all those Brotherhood guys.  Coulda grabbed one of them to piolet it.”

“Yes, but they’re as dead as the Railroad,” X6-88 said coldly.  “Digging through my mind has gotten you nowhere.”

“Can someone shut him the hell up?” Hancock snapped.

Preston’s fist hit the table in agitation.  “Dammit.  If we could just…”

“Well, there’s always X6-88.”

Preston turned to look at Deacon.  “What?”

Deacon shifted from one foot to the other, not meeting Preston’s gaze.  “Amari, you do mind wipes all the time.”

“Well, not all the time, but I’m no stranger to them,” Amari agreed.

“And you have experience constructing false memories for synths,” Deacon looked at X6-88, then to Amari.  “So it wouldn’t be anything really that new for you to wipe his mind clean and make him think he was…say…the other last surviving Railroad member, partway through a long-con to infiltrate the Institute.  A role which was forcing him to pretend to be a Courser he had been modified to share the appearance of.”

Amari’s eyes widened.  There was a ripple of shock around the room.  It hit X6-88 a second after everyone else.

“Wait, you can’t—” the Courser choked on his words.  For the first time, panic flooded his face.  Real, true, pure panic.

“Reprogram him...”  Cait said thoughtfully. 

“Hang on a second, I know he’s the badguy here, but…” Nick spoke up for the first time since they’d finished sifting through memories.  He’d been deep in thought about something.  Now he looked deeply troubled.

“Deacon…”  Preston trailed off.  He wasn’t sure how to finish the sentence.  He turned to Amari.  “Would that even work?”

“Well…” Amari was running variables through her head.  “In theory, yes.  But, it would be risky.  Particularly in his present emotional, physical, and psychological state.  And as an unwilling mind wipe.  Now, it could work perfectly, but it could also kill him.  Or only partially work.  Causing irreparable mental damage, leading to a mental breakdown, or a floodback of memories, triggered partway through this undercover operation.  It’d be extremely risky.  Even if the initial surgery was a success, I couldn’t guarantee it’d stay that way.  There’s usually some tiny trace of what was erased, left behind.  Found most usually in dreams.  It could be an incredible success as well, but, well, it would be a huge risk.”

“It might be our only option.”  Piper tugged on a lock of her hair.

“I dunno, it sounds a little dicey,” Cait chimed in. 

“It could work, though,” Hancock replied, standing up.  He almost stepped on MacCready.  He’d forgotten he was on the floor.  Right now, MacCready looked like he was having an out of body experience.

“Please, you can’t!”  There was panic in his voice now.  Piper looked at X6-88.  He’d gone pale.  “I—I don’t want to forget.”  His voice lost steam until it was barely audible as he finished the sentence.  The outburst had been a little involuntary, and his face was now a mixture of fear and mortification.

Deacon turned and looked him straight in the eye.  As the rest of the room fell silent, he took three steps and moved right up next to the chair.  X6-88 met his gaze, and Deacon leaned forward, close to the Courser’s face.  “What makes you think I give a fuck what you want.”  His voice was just as cold and hard as X6-88’s tone had been earlier.  X6-88 didn’t say anything, he just looked down.

Preston put a hand on Deacon’s shoulder and gently pulled him back.  “Can I talk with you?”

They moved a few feet away, and Preston ran his hand across his head.  “Look, I don’t know all the details of what exactly doing that to him would mean, but I’m not sure I’m entirely comfortable with this.”

“Oh, me either, I just really hate that guy,” Deacon replied, letting out a tense breath.  “I don’t want to wipe and reprogram anyone—even him.  But.  Do you have any other workable plan?”

“Well, I do.”  Nick Valentine spoke up.  The others turned to look at him.

“Okay.”  Hancock folded his arms.  “Let’s hear it.”

Piper looked over her shoulder at X6-88.  He was watching them, face still desperate.  Cait noticed Piper’s gaze and did the same.  When X6-88 noticed they were looking at him he started and looked away.

“That surface detail at Mass Fusion.  I think I can get in.” 

Piper stared at Nick.  “Get—you think you can get into the Institute?”

Nick shrugged.  “Think about it—I’m a Generation 2 synth.  They don’t seem to keep especially careful track of details on the older models.  They’re trying to phase out the Gen 1s and 2s.”  He indicated his head towards X6-88.  “That one never even seems to have learned my name.  Just called me Unit.  I’m not sure he even ever really noticed I wasn’t actively working for the Institute.  Gen 2s aren’t supposed to be human enough to turn on them, like the Gen 3s are.  If I can get to the group in Mass Fusion and switch places with one of the synths in that patrol, I think I could get relayed in with the rest of them.”

“But Nick, that’s incredibly dangerous!  Just you, completely alone on the inside?  What if you get found out?”  Piper stood up from the chair, her voice full of worry.

Nick smiled reassuringly.  “Think about it objectively Piper.  It’s not a bad plan.  I can look after myself pretty well.”

“No, no this could work” Deacon said, thinking hard.  “I have an idea.”

“Yes?”  Preston asked.

“Well, originally, Sole was supposed to contact a member of the Railroad inside the Institute—someone we called Patriot.  I don’t know.  Sole may have shut down everything going on inside the Institute, since he sided with them, but…Sole was…”

“Deacon’s right.  Sole wouldn’t really consider them a threat once he took out the Railroad.  Probably he wouldn’t do anything about the Railroad contact inside unless he was asked to, or until they were directly in his way again.  Until then, they’d probably be too insignificant.”  Piper folded her arms around herself.  Thing she wished she had never had to say about Sole, number 587.  “Any rebel synths or Railroad sympathizers in there may well be dead, but he might just as likely have done nothing.  It’s certainly worth a shot.”

“Even if he got rid of them, you might be able to find some way to get some of the synths inside to help us.  I’m sure there are more who want to escape,” Deacon almost sounded excited now.  “And if he didn’t get rid of them…Well I got two names you can use.  Patriot was a kid named Liam Binet.  Not sure how ready he’d be to help an armed rebellion though, so if he’s still alive, he may be a danger as much as a help.  There was a synth on the inside though, named Z1-13.  We were working with him on a plan.  Well, we were going to.  Sole changed his mind before it went anywhere…”

“But if I can contact him, and convince him I’m a friend,” Nick finished “then we may have some allies on the inside.”

“It’s worth a shot,” Preston agreed.

“Look, I hate to be ‘that guy,’ and at such a nice plan, but—Nick.” Hancock made an awkward, sweeping gesture with his hand.  “You’re uh, not exactly standard appearance when it comes to Gen 2 synths.  And more often then not, they just send Gen 1s, or really old and torn up Gen 2s, out to the field.  Just because stone cold psycho there didn’t notice anything was off with you at first, I kinda doubt none of the scientists would catch on.  Your, uh, face.  It’s not exactly standard issue.” 

“I can take it off.”  Nick didn’t exactly sound thrilled about the prospect.

“I’m sorry, you can what?”  Preston asked.

“You can?”  Cait asked at almost the same instant.

“Most Gen 2s share basically the same endoskeleton as the Gen 1s.  I am, technically speaking, a machine.  Removable parts.”  Nick looked uncomfortable.  Deacon grimaced a little at the idea.  Piper looked horrified.  Preston, supremely worried.  “Look, I’m not exactly thrilled about it myself,” Nick continued “but, if it gets us a shot at the institute?  It’s worth it.”

“Damn.” Preston let out a deep breath.  “Are you sure, Nick?”

Nick nodded.  “It’s our best shot, and a lot of lives are on the line here.”

“You don’t sound like a synth either.”  Hancock sat on the arm of Piper’s chair.  “What are you going to do about that?  You’ll have to talk at some point.”

“I can help with that.”  Amari spoke up for the first time in awhile. 

Hancock shot her a look which seemed to say he wasn’t exactly thrilled all his arguments against Nick going in alone were being shot down.

“I can put together a program enabling you to use the default Gen 1 and 2 synth voice,” Amari continued, “using audio from memories of probably anyone here.  You’ve all fought more than enough, and that Courser has certainly spoken with plenty.  It should be relatively simple to make something that can integrate with your hardware.”

Nick nodded.  “Alright, then we’ve got a plan.”

“I don’t like it,” Hancock narrowed his eyes.  “What do we do if something goes wrong?”

“Yeah, I don’t know Nick.”  Piper couldn’t’ believe she was agreeing with Hancock.  “Sending in just you, it sounds kind of like a death sentence.”

“I’m not the biggest fan either,” Deacon agreed.  “It’s risky, but really only to you.  Taking on something like this all alone, are you sure you want to do this?”

“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I wasn’t sure.  Don’t worry so much, Piper.”  Nick put a hand on her shoulder.  “Besides, do we have an alternative?”

“We could always go back to the whole mind-wipe-reprogram that guy plan,” Hancock offered.

“This is a better plan, and you all know it,” Nick said, looking around the group.

“He’s right.”  It was Cait.  “I don’t really like the idea of trusting that guy to help us, fake memories or no.  At least we all know Nicky’s with us from the get-go.”

“Thanks, Cait.”

“No problem, Nicky.”  Cait stood up.  “We should probably get started then, before the Institute catches up with us.  Yea?”

“One more problem, though.”  Preston spoke up.  He was studying Hancock’s map.  “If we’re going to get Nick in with the group at Mass Fusion, that means we need to be able to make it to the top of the building, take out a synth, and switch Nick in—before they bolt and relay out of there.  If we just run up the stairs, guns blazing, they’re going to relay out.  We need a way to get to the top fast, or undetected.”

“We could try sneaking up,” Deacon offered.

“Yea, but one misstep and we’re dead.  We don’t have a backup plan.  What we need is to attack from the top.  Make it to the roof suddenly.  The stuff they’re collecting—it’ll be near the top.  If we attack someone on the ground floor, they’ll probably just relay the synths who actually have the stuff they need, and leave the ones on the lower levels to fight.  We need a vertibird.”

“No this again,” Cait sighed, sitting back down—this time on the other arm of Piper’s chair.  “Sole killed everyone who could piolet one of those, remember?”

“Not quite,” Nick said after a second.  “At least, I think not.”

“What do you mean?” Deacon asked, looking up in surprise.

“Paladin Danse.”  Nick met Deacon’s gaze and smiled.  “Sole may have joined the Railroad over a year ago, but you know he stayed on with the Brotherhood to ‘keep taps’ on them until not so long ago.  When he finally cut all ties with the Brotherhood, it was because Danse turned out to be a synth.  Brotherhood wanted him dead.”

“But Sole didn’t pull the trigger!” Piper broke in.  “I remember—he let him go, and left the Brotherhood for good.  I think he even traveled with Danse a few times after.  I haven’t heard anything about him from Sole since it happened, and that was a few months ago, but there’s a good chance he’s still living at Listening Post Bravo.”

“And if he’s there, there’s a good chance he knows how to fly a vertibird.”  Everyone had forgotten MacCready again. 

“Shit, we probably shouldn’t have been discussing all this with you here, huh.” Hancock said under his breath, looking at the small man sitting cross-legged on the floor.

“MacCready?”  Piper asked in surprise.  “Wait, are you offering to help us?”

MacCready flushed.  “Actually, I was just thinking out loud.  I feel like I’ve been listening to a bad episode of the Silver Shroud.  But,” he pulled himself up to his feet “are you all really going to do this?  Attack the Institute?”

“Yes.” Nick’s answer was sincere and firm.  Preston and Deacon nodded.

“Right.  Why not.  It’s not like that’s absolutely crazy.”  MacCready looked at the odd group assembled around him.

“Well, it might be crazy, but it’ll be one hell of a story when we win.”  Hancock grinned.  “I wouldn’t mind hiring an extra gun, if you’re interested.”

“Hah!” MacCready’s laugh was involuntary.  He hadn’t expected the offer.  “Hancock, I haven’t even told you if I still want a death match or not.”

“Oh, come on, you saw the same memories we did.  And you’re not an idiot.  You don’t want to be stuck living in this world if we lose to the Institute, right?  So?”  Hancock held out a hand.

MacCready looked at the hand.  “Why are you so sure I’ll help you?  Why do you want my help?”

“We’re doing something crazy.  I’m doing everything I can to improve my odds.  I like to win when I gamble.”  Hancock was all bravado and smiles and confidence.

MacCready looked from the hand, to Hancock’s welcoming grin.

“Damn it.”  MacCready took the hand.  Hancock’s face lit up.

“I knew I was right about you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” MacCready said awkwardly, letting go of Hancock’s hand.  “Just don’t let it go to your head.  And I better be getting paid well.”

“No problem there.” Hancock thumped him on the back.  “Here.”  He passed MacCready back the rifle.

MacCready noticed Deacon stiffen.  “Right, uh.  You’re off my hit list right now Deacon, so. Uh. I’m not going to shoot you.”

“Gee, thanks.”  Deacon replied.  He didn’t look totally convinced.

Hancock put an arm around both men’s shoulders.  “So, what do you say we get started, huh?” He looked at Nick.  “We just need to send someone over to Listening Post Brave to try and convince Danse to join us, right?”

“Yea, but where are we gettin a vertibird?” Cait asked skeptically.  “You got one lyin around?”

“There’s one on top of Cambridge Police Station, if memory serves,” Nick replied. 

“Well alright then.”  Cait smiled at Nick.  “Sounds like a plan to me.  Let’s go grab metal muscles and get flyin.”

“Sounds like we should split up, then.”  Preston picked up his gun.  “Someone needs to check on Cambridge.  If the bird there’s gone, I’m sure we can find another, but we gotta get people out and looking.”

“I think I can scrounge up a few runners,” Hancock said, stepping forward.

“Good.  Then we need to go find Danse.  Convince him to join up.”  Preston could feel his heartbeat slowing down to something like a steady pace.  He’d been wound tight since this thing started, but now.  Now it finally felt like they might have a chance. 

Nick picked up Hancock’s poorly drawn map.  “Listening Post Bravo is North East of here.  Cambridge, North West.  Plus, there’s the situation at the Castle.  Not to mention it’s best not to just leave Goodneighbor undefended.  How do you want to handle this?”

“And there’s Diamond City,” Piper chimed in.

“She has a point,” Nick agreed.  “If people are rioting in Diamond City, it’s not a good sign.  It’s not like Sole’s death or the Minutemen’s situation should have _that_ much impact on them.  If the whole city is about to boil over, then it’s because someone wants them destabilized.  And that doesn’t bode well.”

“Okay, well, first things first.”  Preston said, walking over to the map and gesturing.  “Listening Post Bravo and Cambridge are close.  It won’t take too long to get there.  Hancock, if you can spare someone, send them to Cambridge to check on the vertibird.  We’ll need to send whoever would be the most persuasive to talk to Danse.”

“Might be good to send Deacon, then,” Piper said.  “I mean, Sole wiped out the Railroad and the Brotherhood.  You two have that in common.”

“Yeah,” Deacon rubbed the back of his neck.  “I know he’s a synth and all now, but on second thought, it might be a good idea to send someone he hates less than me.”

“I’ll go.  He loves me,” Hancock winked. 

Piper shoved him off the arm of her chair.  “What kind of stupid suggestion is that?  Take this seriously.”

Hancock stumbled but caught himself.  He looked mildly offended.

“Look, I’ll go.  He might not like me, but we aren’t on hostile terms.”  Preston’s face was determined. 

“You need to get to The Castle,” Deacon disagreed.  “Do you have time for this?”

“Yeah, I need to go, and you need to get out of Goodneighbor before someone else tracks you down.  But I think this is the right play.  Andrews wants to take care of your hand, and it should be sooner rather than later.  You could get a pretty bad infection, from the look of it.”

Deacon looked down at his left hand.  He still couldn’t feel his fingers.  Preston was right.  They were turning colors that couldn’t possibly be good signs.

“We’ll go, Andrews will patch you up while we’re gone.  Nick and Amari can work on Nick’s end of things here, and hopefully be ready to go when we get back with Danse.  Then I’ll go to the Castle.”

“I’ll help you get Danse,” Piper offered.  “But after that, I’m going to Diamond City.”  She looked at Nick.  “I’m worried about Nat.”

Nick gave a nod.  “Be careful, Piper.  Mayor McDonough isn’t exactly your biggest fan.  And it sounds like things are dangerous there right now.  But, if you get a chance to check on Ellie...”

“Will do, Nick.”  Piper turned to Preston.  “Well, let’s go, I guess.”

“I’m coming too.” Hancock turned to MacCready.  “You up for it, MacCready?”

“Uh…Sure.  I guess.”  MacCready sounded thoroughly unconvinced and very doubtful of his life choices.

“Cait?” Hancock turned to her.

She shook her head.  “Thanks, Hancock.  But I’d just as soon stay here.  A long trek out to the middle of nowhere sounds a lot more boring than this.  Everyone here’s so pissed, Goodneighbor’s liable to have a dozen good fistfights fights before you get back.”

“Suit yourself.”  Hancock shrugged.  “I’ll go find a couple runners to check for vertibirds.  Meet you all out there.”  He started for the door.

“Will Goodneighbor be alright without you?” Nick asked.

Hancock turned and grinned at him.  “Fahrenheit’s got it under control.  And we’ll be in and out fast, right Garvey?”

Preston nodded.  “We’ll have to be.” 

Hancock left.  MacCready suddenly felt a lot more uncomfortable.  “Uh, I guess I’ll go with him.”  He started to leave too.

“Good luck, MacCready,” Cait called after him.  He nodded at her and slipped out the door.

Preston turned to Deacon.  “I’m going to find Andrews and talk with my people, then I’ll send him down.”

Deacon nodded.  “You all be careful.”

Preston clapped a hand on Deacon’s shoulder.  “You too.  I’ll be back soon.”

Piper gave Nick a hug.  “Take care of yourself.”

Nick smiled down at her.  “You too, Piper.  Stick with Preston.  I’m sure the two of you can handle whatever comes your way.”

Piper followed Preston out of the room.  Deacon watched them go.

“Well,” Amari said after a moment “I’ll get started on that voice chip.”  She got busy, working with some supplies in a corner of the room.

“This is some goddamn crazy plan,” Cait said, leaning against a wall.  “Damn well hope it works.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curie decides to see what she can do to help Deacon. Ellie tries to figure out some of the goings on inside Diamond City and get word to Nick. Deacon faces the irreparable mistakes he's made, and gets ready to lose something else.

Chapter 7

 

“I’ll be right out!”  Andrews was kneeling in the corner of a room in the Old State House, going through his supply bag.  He looked at the towel on the ground next him.  On top of it lay parts of three different robots.  He was surprised he’d been able to find someone in Goodneighbor selling what he needed, and so easy.  But then, Andrews had never been to Goodneighbor.

He rolled up the robot parts and picked them up in one arm, grabbing his medical bag with the other.  Just as he reached the door, the quiet knocking started up again.

“Yes, sorry—I’m here.  What do you—” he opened the door to find a young woman he’d never seen before standing hesitantly in the doorway.  “—Need?”  He’d fully expected one of his fellow Minutemen to be outside, or maybe another trader, hoping for last minute medical supplies.  He’d missed her entrance to the Mayor’s office earlier, and the girl did have a messenger bag thrown over a shoulder, so he thought maybe the trader guess hadn’t been off.

“Pardonne-moi,” the girl asked hesitantly,  “but you are Monsieur Andrews, yes?  The medic who came in with the Minuteman patrol?”

“Yes.  I am.  And you are…?”  Andrews had heard that accent once before, but he couldn’t remember where.  Maybe Diamond City?  As he trailed off he suddenly became aware of a sound coming from nearby, almost like a fireplace.  He looked behind the girl and saw a Mister Handy floating a few feet back. 

“My name is Curie,” the girl said apologetically.  “I am a Contagions Vulnerability Robotic Infirmary Engineer.  Or, I was.  I am a scientist.”

“A contagious vulnerability what?” Andrews asked, blinking in surprise.  “Nevermind—you said you’re a scientist?  Wait—'robotic’ was one of the words in your title, right?” His voice became suddenly excited.  _No way, that would be too much good luck in one day._

“Yes, but—”

“—You have experience working with robotics, then?”  Andrews’ heart was beating fast.

“I certainly do, but—” Curie couldn’t get her rebuttal out past his enthusiasm.

Andrews dropped his medical bag and grabbed her hand.  “—Can you help me?”

“I, uh—actually Monsieur, I needed to ask _you_ for assistance.”  She looked very flustered.  “I am, well, I wanted to find Monsieur Deacon?  You were with the group that brought him in, according to one of the kind Watchmen out here, and so I thought perhaps you knew where I could find him?”

Andrews let go of her hand, suddenly a bit suspicious.  “Wait, what do you need him for?”

“I…” She blushed and looked at the Mister Handy behind her.  It made an encouraging throat-clearing sound.  Andrews had no idea how.  She looked back at the teen.  “I wish to help him.”  Her face was beat red.  “I noticed earlier that one of his hands needs medical attention quite badly, as well as several other persistent wounds.  I was—that is, I—I said some…unkind things to him earlier, and I would like to apologize, and I thought perhaps I could do so by offering my aid in healing him, if I can. I have some experience with—”

“—Wait,” the excitement was back in Andrews’ voice, full throttle.  “You’re a Doctor?”

“Oui,” Curie looked surprised by his tone.

“This is perfect!  A Doctor, and with robotics experience!”  Andrews snagged his bag from the floor and looked skywards.  “Someone up there is sure looking out for that guy.”  Andrews slung the medical bag over his shoulder and shifted his rolled towel of robot parts to his left arm.  He extended his right hand towards Curie.  “Sorry for the rushed meeting—I’m Caleb Andrews.”

Curie took his hand, smiling and looking a little confused.  “A pleasure.”

“Indeed,” chimed in the Mister Handy behind her.

“Oh, right, uh, hello!”  Andrews waved to the robot.  “Glad to meet you too...?”

“Codsworth.  And the pleasure is all mine.”  The Mister handy floated closer and Andrews shook his claw awkwardly on impulse.

Andrews turned back to Curie. “I’m actually on my way over there—to see Deacon I mean—right now. I’m supposed to patch him up.  I could really use your help, Curie.  With the whole robotics and doctor experience—it’d be a godsend.”  Andrews moved out of the room and stopped between the robot and the young woman.

“I would be glad too!” Curie sounded excited and relieved.  “I was not sure he would want to see me.”

Andrews kept going as soon as he got her confirmation. “Oh, I’m sure it’s fine,” he called over his shoulder, hurrying towards the front door.  “Arguments happen.  Come on, there’s no time to waste!”

Curie nodded, and she and Codsworth followed the kid into the streets of Goodneighbor.

 

* * *

 

Ellie sat at her desk, absentmindedly tapping the surface with a pen.  Things had gotten awfully tense in Diamond City, only a few hours after Nick had left.  Sole, dead?  Rumors had started that he’d been killed fighting a Courser, but these had changed fast.  People were saying Deacon had killed him.  Carla.  Carla was the one who’d seen it.  She wasn’t the only person bringing in the rumor, but she had been the start. 

Ellie snapped the pen in half.  _Oops._

She fumbled around, finding a rag she used for dusting, and cleaned the ink off her fingers.  Now half the Commonwealth was up in arms.  Even Diamond City was in a panic.

“But why?” she asked herself out loud.  _It doesn’t make sense.  Sure, Sole had a lot of friends in town, and with the Minutemen fighting a Courser, it means the Institute may be fighting with them, but why is Diamond City having such a reaction?  We aren’t directly allied with the Minutemen, but everyone in town is acting like war is about to break out.  Something’s fishy about all this._

But what exactly was it—and what was she supposed to do about it?

Sure, there was always stuff going on.  In some form.  Security turning a blind eye to abductions, they mayor’s eternal reign.  The we-don’t-talk-about-that-here-inside-the-walls mentality.  But…This was different.  Like someone making a precise move on a board.  A step ahead of something that, as far as she could tell, hadn’t happened yet. 

Ellie pursed her lips and sighed, leaning forward to rest her chin in her hands.  “Nick, I wonder if you know the answer already?”  Ellie closed her eyes. 

She opened them again when she heard something scratching at the door.

“Hello?”  Ellie stood up and walked over to the door.  She opened it, blinking in surprise at the visitor.  Her face broke into a grin.  “Oh!  Hey boy.”

The dog let out a whine and barked.  Dogmeat, Nick’s old pal.  Ellie stooped down and rubbed the dog behind the ear.

“Hey buddy, how’ve you been?  What are you doing here in Diamond City?”  The dog tilted his head and let out a woof in response.  Ellie smiled.  “Not that I’m complaining.  I’m glad to have the company, especially when the atmosphere outside is just a little bit…hostile.  It’s good to see you.”

Dogmeat looked into the office past Ellie, and whined.

“Sorry, boy.  Nick’s out today.”  She stood back up and moved to let the dog see inside.  “I wish he was here too.”

The dog stuck his head inside the office and sniffed, then looked up at Ellie.  He pawed Ellie’s foot and let out a whine.

“What is it, boy?  You need something?”  Ellie had seen Nick work with Dogmeat enough to know how smart the dog was.

Dogmeat barked and trotted away a few steps, then turned to look at her.

“Okay, boy.  I’ve read enough Astoundingly Awesome Tales to know what you want.  I’m coming.”  Ellie opened her desk drawer and grabbed her pistol and an extra clip, just in case, then hurried out after the dog.

Dogmeat waited patiently for her to reach him, then trotted off down side streets, carefully avoiding the crowd in the main square.  It had gotten bigger. _Weird._   Ellie shook her head and  followed the dog past town, along the city wall, until they reached the path to Diamond City’s front gate.

“So many people.  Looks like everyone’s outside today.”  Ellie wasn’t quite sure why she was whispering, but Dogmeat responded with an equally quiet woof.

Ellie started to walk down the tunnel to Diamond City’s entrance, but Dogmeat let out a low warning bark.  “What is it, boy?” she asked.  He gave a much quieter woof, and nudged her with his nose.  He stepped in front of her and proceeded forward crouching.  “Uh…Stealthy?” she asked.  Ellie moved against one of the walls and very slowly began to proceed.  Dogmeat looked back at her, ears perked up, gave what sounded like a quietly approving woof, then continued down the path in his slinking stance.

As they got close to the gate guard station, Dogmeat stopped to look back at her.  He let out a soft growl and got on his belly, crawling forward even slower.

_Right.  Super stealthy._

Ellie crouched and moved forward very slowly, back against the wall.  Suddenly it hit her that she was sneaking through her home city in broad daylight because a dog had barked at her disapprovingly.

 _Oh well._ Ellie shrugged to herself. _I’ve done stranger things since getting this job._

Sad, but true.  Very true…

They got very close to the guard station, and Ellie noticed that the guards weren’t where they usually were.  No one was in sight, but she heard multiple voices coming from over inside the guard station itself.  _They must all be in there._

Dogmeat stopped and let out an almost imperceptible growl.  Ellie stopped too, and listened.  _Okay boy, what is it.  What did you want me to see._

“All I’m saying is, we have got to be careful.”  She recognized the voice.  Danny Sullivan. “The Mayor says all this trouble with the Minutemen and Goodneighbor, and the Institute.  It’s bound to spread. 

“But closing up the whole town?” one of the other Guards asked. “For how long?”

“As long as it takes,” Danny answered, sounding even more worried and harried than he usually did.  “The Minutemen and the Institute are going to war with each other.  With the Prydwin destroyed too, when the Minutemen get wiped out by this, we’ll be the most powerful presence left in the Commonwealth.  And if the Institute’s track record is any indication, they mean to wipe every potential threat off the map.  Why else would they be sending Coursers after the Minutemen?”

“We could help fight back,” one of the Guards offered after an uncomfortable two seconds of silence.

“As much as I’d like to, we can’t.”  Danny sounded beyond stressed out.  “It’s like the Mayor says, no one even knows where the Institute is.  The Minutemen and Goodneighbor, they don’t stand a chance.  We’ve got to hole up here and protect our own.  The whole city’s on the verge of rioting.  Everyone’s bringing out the worst in everyone else.” 

“Yeah. Now that the Institute has basically declared war on the Commonwealth, they’re all afraid their neighbor is going to turn out to be a synth, and shoot ‘em in the back,” one of the Guards agreed.  “I don’t know where all of this came from, but suddenly everyone’s more tense than ever. Myrna tried to convince me she saw Arturo giving her the old snake eyes this morning, and I should throw him in jail before he shoots someone.  At this rate, only a matter of time before somebody snaps.”

“And once someone does, everyone does,” another guard chimed in.

“It doesn’t look to great for Valentine that he disappeared right before all this started,” added a third, sounding like not only did it not look good in general, but to him personally as well.

“No,” it was Danny’s voice again. “I saw him and Piper run out this morning.  I’m sure she just wanted to find out what happened to the Vault Dweller, and hired Nick.  He was her husband, after all.  Poor girl.”  He sighed.  “Still, I’m glad he got out when he did.  If he was still here, well, with the city the way it is.  I really don’t need to disperse a lynch mob tonight.”

“One of them upper stand ladies told me if any lower stands person so much as sets foot outside her house, she’s blowing his head off in self-defense,” a guard added.  “We already got our hands full trying to keep peace, as is.”

“They ain’t gonna be happy about being locked in,” one of the guards warned.

“Actually, they might.  All anyone wants right now is to be safe,” Danny said.  “Either way, orders are orders.  No one goes in, no one comes out.”

“And if people want in?”

A brief silence.

“Well, let’s hope no overly-zealous citizen tries to get to the top of the wall and snipe at ‘invaders,’” Danny said slowly.  She heard him sigh again. “Which I’m sure someone probably will.  Probably _is,_ already.  Until then, we’ve just got to try and keep everyone here from killing each other.”

“Nick.” Ellie’s voice was only the faintest whisper.  Dogmeat gave an equally faint growl, more like a rumble than anything else.  She had to warn him.  The big idiot was too nice to expect to be shot while walking into his own home city.

Ellie took a deep breath.  How was she going to do this?  Dogmeat growled again and looked at her, then the guard station, hackles raised.  “No boy, if you distract them, one of those big oafs might shoot at you.”  Ellie whispered. 

“We aren’t weak, with Goodneighbor and the Minutemen together, maybe…” one of the guards trailed off, waiting for agreement or rebuttal.  

“Nah,” another answered him.  “Mayor’s right.  What are they thinking, dragging the rest of the Commonwealth down with them?  Goodneighbor, I’d expect this from them, but the Minutemen?  Damn shame. Endangering everyone is all. Like to get my hands on whoever made that call.”

“Yeah, you and half the city. What happened to focusing on just protecting our own, huh? Isn’t that our main priority?” Danny chided the guard, trying to rein in the conversation. He sounded so, so tired.

“Yeah, yeah,” the guard replied.

Shoot—she was almost out of time.  Ellie looked at the distance between her and the still-open gateway, the barricades beyond.  There were a couple men on patrol out there.  Damn, it was a pretty long way. But she had to get to Nick, so… So…

_Only one way._

“Okay boy,” Ellie took a breath, “the direct approach.”

 Dogmeat whined, looking up at her with big eyes. 

“Sorry buddy, it’s the only plan I’ve got.”  Ellie crouched, feet braced against the ground, hands ready to push off the pavement and help propel herself forward.  “Get ready to run.”

She heard Dogmeat whine again, but he moved next to her and crouched, matching her stance.

Ellie took off like an unarmed trespasser on gunner territory who’d just told someone with a Gatling their mother looked like a mutant hound-molerat love-child.

Danny Sullivan and five other guards stared in surprise as she shot past, the blinding flash of fur that was Dogmeat, several feet ahead of her.

“Wha—Ellie!  Stop!”  she heard Danny shouting after her.

“Sorry Sullivan!” she yelled, never once breaking stride.  “I’m not getting locked in!  You’ll just have to shoot me!”

She knew he wouldn’t do it.  And he didn’t.  Good old Danny. 

“Ellie, come back!”

She saw a guard on patrol, up on her left.  He made a dash for her, but Dogmeat plowed into him, knocking him backwards over a pile of concrete.

“Sorry officer!” she called over her shoulder. 

“Ellie, if you go we can’t let you back in! We can’t help you! Ellie!” She heard Danny still shouting behind her, his voice increasingly upset, but the words faded as she and Dogmeat reached the shelter of the old ruined buildings outside Diamond City.

The two wove through the ruins until they crested the hill above the city, and Ellie finally paused to breathe behind some cover.  Dogmeat gave her his doggy smile, tongue hanging out as he panted.  She ruffled his ears.  “Thanks, boy.  We made a pretty good team, huh?” 

He let out an excited bark, tail wagging.

Ellie finally caught her breath and stood upright.  “Okay.  We need to warn Nick.  Can you find him, boy?”

Dogmeat gave an emphatic woof.

Ellie smiled.  “Good dog.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Do you, uh, need any help?” Deacon asked.  Nick Valentine had started to leave the room, but he stopped and turned around.  Deacon continued awkwardly.  “With uhm, your face?”

Nick tilted his head. “Thanks for the offer, Deacon, but I think I can manage.  And if I need anything, I’ll call Amari.  I don’t think your hands are really up to fine motor control tasks at the moment.  You should get some rest.”

Deacon looked down at his hands.  His right one was still encased in a bandage.  Although the break itself had been healed by the stimpack, but it was still painful and sore. Hadn’t fully recovered yet.  And then, his left hand…

“Yeah.  Good luck, Nick.” 

Nick Valentine smiled.  He started to turn and go for the second time, but he stopped again.  He walked over to Deacon.  “Look, are you alright? –I know, it’s a stupid question.  After everything, of course you’re not.  But.  Anything we can do?”

Deacon felt his hand absently go to Desdemona’s scarf around his neck.  “Nah.  I’m good.  You’ve got your own things to worry about.”

“Are you sure?”  Nick put his hand on Deacon’s shoulder.  His glowing eyes were intense, but something about Nick made you feel safer.  Maybe not even in spite of, but because of that.

Deacon nodded.  Nick let go of his shoulder and turned to go.  “Hey Valentine.”  Nick stopped and turned his head.  “Is there…anything I can do?”

Deacon didn’t know why he’d asked him that. Or why the last four words came out so choked and broken, and not at all the way he’d meant to deliver them.  There was no way Nick could know the answer to that question.  It wasn’t a question anyone _could_ answer.  It wasn’t about the mission, or the Institute.  It was a question he’d been asking himself for a long time.  One he’d almost started to hope he’d found an answer to this past year.  For the first time in so long. And now it was a question he was deeply, truly, completely afraid he did know the answer to already.  Would always know the answer to. 

But then, he was lying to himself, wasn’t he.  He’d known, hadn’t he.  Hadn’t he always…

“Deacon.” Nick’s glowing eyes met his again.  “You’re doing it.”  He felt the metallic fingers of Nick’s right hand, firm on his shoulder, before his vision registered the hand’s presence. 

For a second, he wasn’t sure which question Nick was answering.  But when he looked up from the hand on his shoulder to Nick’s expression, he knew.  Deacon looked away.

Nick started to say something else, but he felt Deacon tense.  He slowly let go of his shoulder and turned.  Nick took a few steps away, back towards the door out, then stopped.

“You know, Deacon.  Life isn’t weighted against a feather.   It’s worth a lot more than that.”  He met Deacon’s eyes.  “I for one am proud to have you as a friend.”

“You flatter me.”  The words he’d spoken to Nick so many times over the past year came out automatically, but they sounded empty, and false.

Nick gave him a sad smile.  He absently tapped the door frame, then stepped out.

“Nick.”

Nick stepped back into the room.  “Yeah?”

He had to say something.  “Thanks.”

Nick disappeared up the stairs and Deacon sat down.  He noticed X6-88 looking at him.  A member of the Neighborhood Watch had moved him out of the lounger, and chained him to a desk.  He didn’t look so good either.  Consolation.

He wondered if the Courser had overheard their conversation, or if he was still waiting for them to wipe his mind and shove him full of false memories.  He wasn’t sure.  There had been a brief, panicked struggle when he was moved to the desk,  but aside from that, looking up at Deacon had been the most responsive thing X6-88 had done since Preston had pulled Deacon away from him.  It was like he’d shut himself down.  He hadn’t spoken another word.

X6-88 met his gaze for a moment.  The two had traded looks, in passing, in combat, but this was the first time they held each other’s gaze.  It seemed like the sightline became a tangible thing, crackling in the air between them.  Both looking into the face of the man who had killed their closest friend.  Deacon wasn’t sure what either of them were looking for, or expecting.  Hoping maybe, to find.  Blue eyes. Oddly similar. Both of them.

There was the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and Andrews stepped into the room.  Deacon broke eye contact first, looking to see who it was.  When he glanced back, X6-88 was unresponsive again, eyes on the floor.  Whatever had happened between them, it was over.

“Deacon!  Hey, uh,” the boy turned around and spoke to someone behind him—still on the stairs.  “You can come on in now.  It’s okay.”

“Who the hell is he?”  Deacon jumped at the unexpected voice.  He hadn’t heard Cait move up beside him.  Damn it, damn it, he was usually so sharp.  He was going to have to get used to being without his left ear, and fast, or it was going to get him killed.

“Uh,” he looked back at Andrews just in time to see Curie stepping hesitantly into the room.  “He’s a Minuteman.”

“Oh yeah, he was with Preston earlier, wasn’t he?” Cait sat down on the couch next to Deacon.

“Yeah.”  Deacon watched as Andrews started to walk over, Curie following.  Behind them, Codsworth floated in.

“Hi, is this a bad time?”  Andrews asked. 

“No.  What’s up?”  Deacon noticed the medical bag slung over Andrews’ shoulder, and had a pretty good idea.  But he asked anyway, in that vague, desperate, hopeless way people keep on talking about nothing to doctors in a last attempt to fend off an inevitable procedure for another few, precious seconds.

“I need to look at your hand.  It’s, uh…” The boy trailed off, looking almost guilty.

At Andrews’ words, Cait glanced down at Deacon’s hand.  “Oh, Jesus!”  She jumped up at the sight. 

“It’s dead.”  Deacon finished for him.  It was.  He knew it.  The skin around the laceration was dark red from the tear, and the cut itself was infected.  You could see it through the stitches.  But the hand above the cut?  It was a purple that faded into black.  It was the septic purple-black of tissue receiving no oxygen, of a rotting corpse.  The contrast against the healthy skin on his arm was sickening.

Andrews’ face drained of color.  “I’m so sorry.”

Deacon shook his head.  “You did your best.  I’m pretty sure it was dead by the time you showed up and stitched it back.  Besides, you saved 90% of me.  At least it wasn’t one of my eyes or something.”

Andrews tried to refocus on the task at hand.  “Thanks, sir.  Uh, a-anyway, I’m here because I know you’ll need as many usable hands as possible if you’re going back into battle, and the infection in your hand—we’ve got to do something about that or it’ll spread.”

“Missiour Andrews is right.”  Curie spoke up hesitantly.  She started to take a step forward, then stopped.  “Um, if I may?”

Deacon nodded.

“I know I was very unkind to you before,” Cure said, kneeling in front of Deacon and studying the hand.  “I would like to apologize for my behavior, and help you, if I can?”  She looked into his face hesitantly.  “If you do not wish me to help—that is, I understand completely if you cannot forgive me, or do not want my—”

“—It’s fine Curie.  Nothing to apologize for.”  Deacon gave a tired smile.  “Man in my position?  I’ll take any help I can get.”

Curie returned his smile, looking greatly relieved.  “Merci, Monsieur Deacon.  Now, let us see.”

Andrews knelt down next to her.  “See what I meant, about the damage to the nerves?”

“Oui.  I think you are right,” Curie’s brow furrowed in concentration.

“To the wrist at least?”  Andrews asked.

“The whole forearm is better, for reconnectivity and compatibility,” Curie said, touching a spot on Deacon’s left forearm.

“What’re you two gabbin’ on about?”  Cait asked.  She hadn’t sat back down, but she was hanging close, standing by the side of the couch and watching.

“Deacon,” Andrews bit his lip.  “We’re going to have to amputate it.”

Deacon had known, but the words still made the pit of his stomach drop for a moment.  He nodded slowly.

“I’ve got things we can use—robot parts—to make a prosthetic!”  Andrews hurriedly unrolled the towel he’d carried in, revealing three different robotic arms.

“Can I get one that transforms into a gun?”  Deacon had always thought that _would_ be kind of cool.

Cait snorted.  “Wait, actually that does kind of sound like fun…” she added after a second.

“Uh,” Andrews couldn’t tell he was joking.  “This is all I have, but…”

“Sorry.  This is just fine.”  Deacon smiled.  It was weird, trying to reassure the person who was about to cut your arm off.  He had a feeling this usually went the other way.

“This arm, it is from a generation 1 synth, and relatively undamaged.  I believe, with little difficulty, we should be able to get this one to work.”  Curie picked up the arm, showing it to Deacon for approval.

“I’m good with that.  It certainly looks the most…Familiar, out of the bunch.”  Deacon tried not to think about losing his arm, but trying not to think about something is a catch 22.  “Do you really have to amputate the whole thing—to the elbow? Not just the hand?”  He wasn’t even sure why keeping part of his arm felt better, when he’d be losing the hand regardless.

“No, we may not have to, but this will by far be the most assured of success.  If we try just the hand, it is more likely to be rejected during connectivity to the electronics interface, which may cause painful nerve damage, in which cases, we would have to operate again, and amputate more of your arm with a second surgery, possibly to the shoulder, as going all the way to a joint makes it easier for the prosthetic to function successfully.”  Curie wasn’t sugar coating it.

“Okay, let’s get it over with then.”  Deacon let out a sharp breath.  “I get to be unconscious for this, right?”

“Of course,” Curie replied.  “If you were awake, you could go into shock, and then either pass out to save your life, or die from the excruciating pain.”

“Jesus,” said Cait again.  She looked at Deacon.  “Well, look at it this way.  It’s like automatic brass knuckles.”

He appreciated that she was trying to cheer him up, but automatic brass knuckles weren’t especially comforting at the moment.  Deacon stood up.  “Alright, sooner the better, I guess.”

Cait watched as Andrews and Curie cleared off and dragged over a table, setting it near one of the counters.  Deacon’s face looked collected.  But he kept absently rubbing his left forearm.  She realized after a second that it was a sensation he’d never feel again. 

“Would you care for a spot of tea?” Codsworth asked Deacon, hovering closer.

“Thanks, maybe afterword,” Deacon replied.  Afterword.

Cait walked over to Andrews.  “You ever done anything like this before?”

Andrews busily set out supplies.  “No.”  He looked a little guilty.

“How about you, darlin?” Cait asked Curie. 

“No, I have not either.  But I have read a great deal, and have simulated the event multiple times in my head, for maximum accuracy.”  She sounded like she thought this was a very satisfactory and foolproof preparation measure.

“Right.”  Cait glanced at Deacon.  He looked lost in thought—probably hadn’t heard that.  “Well then.”

“I’m sure we can do this, right Curie?” Andrews was afraid, but he was trying hard to put a good face on. 

“But of course.”  Curie smiled.  “With our combined expertise, I am certain we will do an excellent job.”

“Sure you will.”  Cait patted Andrews on the shoulder and walked back over to Deacon.  “You doin’ alright?”

Deacon had official been asked that question more times in a single day than the rest of his life combined.  “Just peachy.  But if you want to trade, and get the new robot arm instead of me, I could be persuaded—for the right amount of caps.”

“Nah, I worked far too hard on these guns,” Cait flexed.  “But with the man just cuttin’ off your arm and slappin’ on a new one, he should’ve at least given you one with a spring blade.” 

Cait was going out of her way to be friendly.  What a strange day.

“Okay, we’re ready.”  Andrews set the last of his supplies down on the counter.  “Go ahead and get on the table.”

Deacon climbed onto the table and laid down.  He wasn’t big on operating tables.  _Oh well._

If _Oh well_ wasn’t just his life motto nowadays.

“This will knock you out,” Andrews said, holding up a syringe.  “Are you ready?”

“Yeah.  Totally.  Let’s lose an arm.”  Deacon closed his eyes.

Cait watched Andrews inject him with the sedative.  Somehow it wasn’t until one of them picked up a saw that everything clicked. 

“Oh, shit,” Cait stood up again. “That’s disgusting.  I’m just going to step out for a bit.” 

She slipped up the stairway and out into the Memory Den.  Damn.  The place was empty, but outside she could hear commotion.  Lots of commotion.  Cait left the Memory Den, in search of some good distraction.  It wasn’t hard to find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you greatly for all the feedback--means a lot. I hope you continue to enjoy the story, and always happy to read thoughts on it. As they break into smaller groups, I'll be doing my best to allocate narrative time around to explore all the great characters in this game. Preston, Hancock, MacCready, and Piper up next.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Piper, Hancock, Preston, and MacCready head off to get Danse.

Chapter 8

“Okay everyone, remember to be tactful, please?”  Preston had a headache.  The trip hadn’t been too long, but it had been terrible.  He was tired, he was thirsty, he hadn’t slept.  And Piper and Hancock wouldn’t stop fighting.  They’d been bickering the whole goddamn trip.  How the hell could two people so damn similar find so much to argue about?  Hancock genuinely seemed to like Piper, but she just wasn’t having it.  She hated the guy.  Not that Preston was a fan of the anarchy that ran rampant in Goodneighbor, and all the violence and graft, and don’t get him wrong—he loved Piper; she was a good friend—but damn it—this wasn’t the best time for this.  Considering everything, could she not just leave it at “the enemy of my enemy is my friend?”  For two minutes?

MacCready, on the other hand, had been mostly quiet.  Which was a blessing, at least.  Preston still didn’t understand why he was helping them.  What had Hancock said to him when they left his office?  He didn’t look happy about being on the mission, but he’d been the first one to notice when they got close to something dangerous on their trek—every time.  Whatever you could say about him, you had to admit he had a good ear and a crack shot.

“You don’t need to state the obvious, Preston.  We ain’t kids,” Hancock checked his clip as they walked.

“You coulda damn well fooled me.”  Preston said it incredibly quietly, and he was several feet ahead of Piper and Hancock, but on his right, he heard MacCready muffle a snort.  He looked over.  MacCready met his glance and tried to get his expression back under control.  Preston couldn’t help smiling.  MacCready’s face broke back into a grin and he pulled his hat down low over his head to hide his expression from Piper and Hancock.

“Well, here we are.”  Piper stopped, pointing at the entrance to Listening Post Bravo.  “If he’s still here, he’s probably on high alert though—after what Sole did to the Railroad and the Brotherhood.  We should be careful.”

“Yeah, and what do we do if he’s dead,” asked MacCready.  Pessimistic as ever.

Hancock waved the question away.  “We cross that bridge if we have to.  Now come on.”

Piper and Hancock started to step out into the clearing. 

“Wait!” MacCready’s voice.  Then, at almost the same instant, Preston and MacCready pulled them both back.  Preston pointed.  Armed turrets sat on top of the building.

“Great.”  Piper looked down at her lone pistol.  “Someone with a rifle want to do the honors?”

Preston and MacCready both took aim, and a few shots later, the turrets both exploded.

“Alright, _now_ let’s go.”  MacCready looked a little smug. 

Hancock took point, thumping MacCready on the shoulder as he passed.  “Not bad, MacCready.”

 _Wow._ Piper glanced at MacCready’s face. Beaming.  _It’s really easy to flatter that guy._

The group reached the entrance and stopped.

“Okay, I think I should go in first.  As far as I can tell, Piper and I are the least likely to get shot.”  Preston slung his musket over his shoulder.  “But he probably knows me best. If I’m unarmed, I don’t think he’ll shoot at me.”

MacCready watched him move.  _Technically that’s not unarmed._

“So what, the rest of us just wait here?”  Hancock asked, folding his arms.

“I don’t know, it doesn’t sound like a bad plan,” Piper countered. “Better than _you_ going in alone.”  She turned to Preston. “But I’ll come with you.  Oh, come on Preston, don’t give me that look, like he’d just shoot at me?  And don’t give me any of that ‘civilian’ thing.  The Minutemen are a ‘civilian’ militia.”

“Okay, Piper.”  Preston sighed.  It was no use arguing with her most of the time. He was exasperated, but he was smiling a little too.

“We’ll at least ride the elevator down with you,” Hancock pushed past them, towards the elevator at the back of the room. “Give you backup at a ‘moment’s notice,’ you know.”

“We will?” MacCready asked, following.

“Provide fire support if something bad happens.  Or tactical support, if he needs sweet talking.” Hancock winked at Piper.  _She really hates me._

Piper narrowed her eyes.  _I really hate him._ “Okay, just stay back, or you’ll mess everything up. If he sees you first, he probably _will_ shoot.”

“Are we all even gonna fit at once?” Preston asked, feeling like he’d aged ten years since this group trek began.

It was a good question. Preston, MacCready, Hancock and Piper entered the elevator together.  You really couldn’t fit more than four people in one of these.  The verdict to “can we all fit” was that four was doable, but really pushing it—as far as personal space went.  Especially with Preston and MacCready carrying rifles, and Hancock’s hat getting in the way.

When the elevator opened, they were all pretty ready to get back out of it.

Hancock stepped out first. 

Lasers went off.  All anyone behind him could make out was the sound of gunfire, coupled with MacCready’s “Hancock!” and Hancock’s sudden “Oh, shit!” as he became a blur of movement, diving for cover behind a stack of boxes.

As Hancock hit the ground with a thud, Preston, MacCready, and Piper all pressed themselves against the elevator’s walls for cover as lasers burned holes into the elevator’s back wall where they’d been. Two Protectrons, three turrets. 

“Goddmannit Danse, we’re not here to fight!”  Hancock’s voice was loud enough to be heard over the lasers.  Piper heard his shotgun going off. 

Preston glanced out and one of the lasers burned a hole through his hat brim.  He jerked back behind cover, counted under his breath, took a deep breath, and with one quick movement propelled himself from the elevator to cover behind the boxes, beside Hancock.  She heard his laser musket charge up and fire.

MacCready leaned out of the elevator and let off a lighting-fast shot, back in cover before she thought he’d have even had time to pull the trigger, much less aim.  A turret exploded.

Piper caught sight of a terminal a little ways into the room.  “MacCready!”  he couldn’t hear her over the gunfire from across the elevator.  She kicked his shin.

“Ow!” He looked at her then.

“Cover me!”  Piper took off for the terminal.

“Wh-no-no-no-hey--!” MacCready tried to catch the back of her jacket to stop her and missed.

“Piper!”

“Piper what the hell!”

Preston and Hancok.  She reached the terminal, trying to use the flimsy chair behind it as cover--it wasn’t going to work.  Furiously, she checked the controls on the computer.  _Yes!  Turrets!_   One click and they were offline.  She heard something behind her.  In the screen’s reflection, she could see one of the Protectrons.  Something red came out of nowhere and slammed into the machine, knocking it out of the reflection.  Piper didn’t stop to think or turn around.  She found the Protectron control on the terminal and slammed her finger down on the shutdown key.

Suddenly the room was quiet.  She spun around.  Hancock was on the ground to her right, on top of a protectron.  Preston was standing to the left of the boxes, musket aimed, charged, and finger halfway to pulling the trigger. 

MacCready was staring at her from inside the elevator, his face pale, shaking fingers clamped around his rifle in a death-drip.  “Are you out of your mind!”   She noticed the second Protectron was on the ground, to her right, three bullet holes in the glass casing protecting its head.  MacCready slumped to the ground and covered his eyes.  Providing last second cover fire for a crazy person.  Not nerve wracking at all.

“It worked, didn’t it?”  Piper asked. 

“I’m fine, by the way.”  Hancock shoved himself up off the Protectron and dusted the front of his coat.  He turned to MacCready.  “That was some damn fine shooting.”

MacCready’s hand was still over his eyes, but Piper saw him smile. 

“It was,” Preston agreed.  “Now let’s find Danse.  Hancock, MacCready.  You all wait here.”  He took a few steps into the room and turned to Piper. “And Piper, please never do that again.”

Piper grinned and stood up to follow Preston.

“You know,” MacCready still hadn’t completely recovered his breath, and his hand was still over his eyes.  “I think Piper should stay here too.”

“No, I’m going.”  Piper turned to Preston and folded her arms.

“Come on, then.”  Preston sighed. Probably worse if he left her where he couldn’t have her back. Besides—using the computer had been smart.  A damn fool move, but smart.  He started off towards a little hole in the wall on the right.  It seemed to be the only way forward.

Piper followed, but paused when she reached the hole in the wall.  She turned and looked back at the others.  “Hancock, MacCready.  Thanks for the fire support.”  Hancock grinned, and MacCready shook his head, but he was smiling.  “You too, Preston,” she called after him, into the next room.

“Yeah.  Same to you,” he called back, waiting for her to join him. In a second, she was in the little tunnel too and they were alone.  “That was foolhardy,” he chided quietly, “but brave.”  

Piper grinned up at him. “I know.”

Preston shook his head.  They stepped out into a little open room, and found…nothing.  Well, they found something.  A mattress, supplies, very plain signs someone had been living here, but no Paladin Danse.

“Great,” Piper groaned.  “Now what?”

Preston walked over to a little table in the room and touched the remains of a dinner plate.

“What, is it still warm or something?” Asked Piper, moving up beside him.

“No,” Preston shook his head “but it’s still fresh.”  He indicated part of a tato left on the plate.  “It hasn’t been cut open long.  It’d show signs.”

“So we just missed him?”  Piper asked.  “Maybe we can still catch him, if he’s close.”

“I don’t know. Worth a shot, I guess. He might have fled.” Preston straightened back up.  “At least he’s still alive, though.  And living here.”

“Guys!”  It was MacCready’s voice, full apprehension mode.

Preston and Piper traded looks, and in an instant they were both hurrying through the passage, back into the main room.

MacCready and Hancock stood near the elevator, locked in a standoff with the man they’d come here to find.  Piper saw Paladin Danse for the first time in months.  He looked very much the same.  Somehow, he still had his power armor up and working.  Just a little bit more beard, though.

“Piper.  Preston.”  His greeting was somewhere between cautious and suspicious.  The gun stayed trained on Hancock.  “What are the four of you doing here.”

“Getting shot at, so far,” Hancock offered.  The room behind them was sort of in tatters and burn marks, from the recent scrape.  Not that it had exactly been in good condition before.  “But we came here looking for you.”

“We need your help.”  Preston stepped forward, swinging his laser musket behind his shoulder and holding up his hands in a nonthreatening gesture.  Piper followed suit and put away her pistol.  MacCready and Hancock echoed the gesture, far more reluctantly.  Lowering their weapons, rather than putting them away.

“With what?”  Danse asked, letting his gun lower just a little as well.  “Is this about Sole?  I can’t imagine anything else the four of you have in common.  I assumed he would come for me eventually.  After what he did to the Brotherhood _and_ the Railroad, I can’t imagine he’d have any reasons left _not_ to.”

Piper took a step forward.   “Danse, he’s dead.”

Danse’s eyes widened with genuine surprise and he stopped focusing on Hancock and MacCready to look at her.  He really hadn’t known.  “He’s…been killed?”

Piper nodded. She wasn’t sure what emotion was in Danse’s voice as he asked, but it hurt because it reminded her very much of how her own had sounded that morning when she’d asked one of the guards in Diamond City the same question.

“How?  When?”  The words came fast and his gun lowered further.  “Who killed him?”

“Deacon.”  It was Preston who answered first this time.  Danse looked at him.  “Sole was trying to finish off things with the Railroad, and it didn’t go down the way he planned.”

“Did Deacon survive the battle?”  Danse asked.

Preston nodded.  “Barely.  But the Institute is out for blood now, and not just from him. From the whole Commonwealth.”

“We need your help,” Piper chimed in.  “We have a plan, but in order for it to work, we need you.”

“You want me to assist you in fighting the Institute?”  Danse suddenly broke into a smile.  “Wait, are the Minutemen leading the charge?”

“Yes.” Preston’s face was serious.

Dance looked tickled by the idea for a second, but then his face grew serious too.  “I don’t know that we have much chance, with the Prydwin destroyed.  Even the Railroad, ragtag as they were, had some espionage and subterfuge to back their efforts.  But I suppose the Minutemen are all the Commonwealth has left.  And, if I can help you to destroy the Institute, I will.”

“Great, now can we all get out of here?”  MacCready was ready to leave this place behind.

* * *

 

 

They had to take two trips in the elevator this time.  One man in power armor takes up a lot of space.

Once they reached the surface, Danse turned to Preston.  “So, Piper said you needed me specifically. What exactly do you need _me_ for?”

“We’re hoping you know how to fly a Vertibird.”

“Of course I do.” He was almost indignant.  “I mean, it’s been awhile.  But I’ve done it before.  I’m sure I can manage.” 

Preston let out an inaudible sigh of relief.

Danse thought for a second and then looked over them. “Do you mean to tell me no one in your entire alliance has the ability to pilot a vertibird?”

“Look,” Piper replied, “it’s not exactly common knowledge. How many of us do you think ever got the chance to try even if we’d wanted to?”

“I, for one,” Hancock chimed in immediately “would love to learn though—if you’re just giving away free lessons.”

Danse marched straight ahead. “I believe that to be the worst proposition I’ve ever been given. You would be a public menace behind the wheel of a vertibird.”

“It’s just too much power,” Hancock grinned. “Scares you.”

They walked in silence for a minute. Danse glanced at Preston off and on, then finally spoke up again.  “Garvey, I understand your desire to protect the Commonwealth, but why are you working with the mercenary and the ghoul?” 

Hancock’s head shot up and he turned to look at Danse and narrowed his eyes. “It’s kind of reassuring to know that now that even now that you’re a synth, you’re still a racist asshole.”

Danse bristled. “Just because I’m a synth doesn’t mean I’ve abandoned all of the Brotherhood’s values.  It isn’t some baseless discrimination, ghouls are a danger to the general populous.”

“Ghouls _are_ the general populous. A decent percentage of it,” Hancock wasn’t even _that_ mad.  He was used to Danse and people like him—dime a dozen. But damn if that meant he was just gonna take it.

“It’s not like he’s a feral,” MacCready chimed in.  “People go crazy too.  And anyway, synths are way more of a danger to society.”

“Can we please not do this?”  Preston was suddenly missing Piper and Hancock’s bickering. At least they’d both seemed to in some way enjoy it.  He really did not want to listen to this the whole walk back to Goodneighbor.

“I wasn’t trying to pick a fight, it was an honest question.”  Danse sounded a bit miffed.  “Why are the ghoul and the mercenary helping?”

“Can you at least call him Hancock?”  Piper asked.  “I mean, if you were this wrong about synths, couldn’t you be wrong about other things too?  Like ghouls?”

“I have a name, too,” MacCready added, irritated.

“MacCready is helping for his own, personal reasons.”  Hancock sounded nonchalant.  “Me, I’m helping because Sole turned traitor on the whole Commonwealth.  The Brotherhood, the Railroad, his friends.  He got one of my people.  Goodneighbor’s my town, and I’ll be damned if I let the Institute just walk right in and fuck with us.”

Danse nodded.  “I can respect that resolve. Even after everything, the Brotherhood was my home for a long time, and I feel much the same way.” He paused.  “And, I’m sorry you lost one of your own to him.”

It was the first and only nice-ish thing he’d ever said to Hancock.  Hancock shrugged.  “I’m sorry he killed all of yours.  I mean I guess they weren’t ‘yours’ anymore.  But like you said—old allies. And you probably had a friend or two still in there.  Even after they stabbed you in the back.  That Haylen girl.  She seemed solid.  Less Brotherhood, more Minuteman-y to me.”

Hancock hadn’t really traveled much with Sole until after he’d left the Brotherhood, but he’d met him back when he was still with them, and he’d traveled with him again, later, when Sole was doing his ‘Brotherhood-reconnaissance’ while working for the Railroad.  He hadn’t been too sure about Sole back when they’d first met.  You’re an outgoing ghoul, you offer to travel with some crazy vault dweller who tried to rob you, and where do you end up on your first little trek?  Boston Airport.  With two hundred Brotherhood soldiers.  But, hey, what a rush, right?  He’d traveled with Sole a few times while he was in the group.  Hancock remembered the scribe.  Haylen.  She’d been the only decent person he’d met in the Brotherhood.

Danse’s face grew grave.  “She was an excellent scribe.”

Hancock felt a little bad for the man.  Even his condolences had been a bit of dig, and while Danse might be a racist asshole, everyone he’d been friends with had thrown him out and tried to kill him, and then they’d all been killed, and his only remaining friend had turned out to be about the worst person either of them had ever met.  Pretty shit thing to happen to anyone, no matter how you looked at it.

They traveled in silence for awhile.

“What about you?”  Danse asked Preston.  “Sole was the General of the Minutemen.”

Preston’s face was set.  “Not anymore.  I know what he did to his allies, and I saw what he did to Deacon.  The man was his friend.  Nearly died for him, more than once.  And he tore him apart.”  He took a breath.  “That’s not the Minutemen.  Not working for the institute either.  Never has been.”

Danse had on something like a smile.  “Sometimes you really do remind me of--” He didn’t finish.  He just shook his head.  Danse turned to Piper.

Before he could ask her, she asked him.  “And you Danse, no lingering loyalty to Sole?”

“None.”  Danse sounded like the words had aged him thirty years.  “Not after everything he’s done.”

“Me either.”  Piper answered the question he hadn’t asked yet.  Danse nodded, and they continued on.  The only sounds were the sounds of their feet, and the shifting of the plates of metallic power armor.

* * *

 

 

“Piper?”

“Mmmhmm.”  She was groggy, still mostly asleep.  She felt a strong, cold hand intertwining with her own.  “Why are your hands always so cold?”  Her eyes were still shut, and her voice was sleepy.

“200 years in a cryogenic chamber can do that to you.” She could hear the smile in his voice.  _He’s teasing me._

“You know,” Piper rolled over and curled up against him, resting her head on his chest.  “It’s not fair to tease me when I’m still asleep.  I can’t tease back at my full potential.”

“I’m not teasing.  It’s a well-known scientific fact that cryogenically freezing someone for 172 or more years will cause permanent coldness to the hands.  Really.” 

“Mmmmmnn…”  Piper mumbled. She shifted and hit him in the face with a pillow.

“Ow.”

“Serves you right, for waking me up.”  Piper smiled, eyes still shut tight. She took the pillow and hugged it to her chest.

“I had to, it’s important.”  She felt his other hand begin to stroke the back of her head. 

“Important?”

“Mmhmm.”  His voice was quiet and happy.  His fingers stopped running through her hair and began to trace the outline of her face.  “It’s very important.  So important I had to wake you up.”

“What is it?”  Piper asked.  His fingers felt good against her skin, even if they were cold.  She was used to him.  He felt like home.

“I was looking at the stars.”

“The stars?”

“Yes, there’s a little hole in the ceiling, believe it or not.”

“I believe it.” Piper smiled.  “There wasn’t even a ceiling a month ago.”

“I noticed something, Piper.”

“Yeah?”

“The stars, they’re the exact same as they were 200 years ago.  Still beautiful.”  He paused.  Her eyes were still shut, but she knew he must be looking up at the stars.  “When I first got here, I thought I couldn’t do it.  The Commonwealth was so different, Piper.  Everything’s…Gone.  Everything I ever knew.  Or had.  Or loved.  …But not the stars.”

Piper felt a twinge of sadness.  The world she was used to wasn’t her husband’s world.  Maybe it never could be.  It had to pale so much in comparison to a world before the war.

“And I realized, that’s not all.  I just couldn’t see it at first.”  His voice was quiet, thoughtful.  “But it’s the same stars above me, and beside me.”

She felt him roll over to face her, gently setting her head back on the bed.  She opened her eyes and saw him looking at her, the moonlight reflecting off his bright brown eyes.

“It’s the same love I had before.  The same family.” He looked away, then back at Piper.  “Better, even.”

“Better?”  Piper laughed. “I can’t imagine it’s better.”

Sole took Piper’s face in his hand and pulled it close to his own, until their lips were almost touching.  He looked deep into her eyes, and gave his proud little, one-sided smile.  “Better.”

Piper blushed and looked away.

“So, I thought…”  He looked back up at the night above them.  “It’s the same stars in the sky, the same earth beneath my feet.  And I have a home again, with you.”  He met her eyes again, holding her in his gaze.  “So, I was wondering, if you would make a family with me?”

“A—“  Piper didn’t know how to respond.  _Children?_

“I understand if you don’t want to, Pipers.  It’s a hard life out here.  I know that.  But, with you…I think we could be happy.  Really happy.  You, me, someday Shaun, and…”

“A child?”  Piper asked, suddenly welling up with tears.  She wasn’t even sure why.  Maybe she was still groggy.  “You’d trust me with—”

“Trust you?”  he laughed.  “Piper, of course—of course I would.  But I don’t want a child with you because I think you’d be a capable mother, I want to start a family with you because I can’t imagine anything in this world that would be better.”

Piper felt something wet on her cheek and furiously rubbed at it with an arm.  “You’re making me look like an idiot, Blue.”

“Nah, you do that on your own.”

“Hey!”  She saw him grinning.  “Yeah, I do.”

“Thankfully, you’re my kind of idiot.  Absolutely perfect, in every way.”

“You’re an idiot too,” Piper took his hand.  “But if you really think we could do it, then…Then if it would make you happy, yeah.  I think we could do it, too.  Keep a kid safe.  Probably.”  She laughed.  “I already make a lousy big sister, imagine the kind of mother I’m going to be.”

“Mmmhhmm, I can see it now.” Sole gestured broadly, painting an imaginary future.   “A notepad in one hand, a child in the other.  You, accidentally forgetting and taking notes on the kid’s forehead.  Our child writing tell-alls about Marcy’s secret double life before they’re out of diapers, the house on fire.”

“Blue.”  She shoved him.  “Guess they’re gonna learn to shit-talk from both of us.”

He laughed, taking her hand again and holding it tightly, smiling at her like he would never let go.

“You’re still icy, Blue.”

“You’re still perfect, Piper.”  He took her wrist and held her hand up to the light.  The gold wedding band that had been his first wife’s now rested on Piper’s finger, catching moonlight.  He intertwined her fingers with his own, his gold band beside hers.  “And you’re going to make a perfect mother.”

He leaned forward and kissed her.  His lips were cold, but when they met hers, everything was perfect.  
She felt his hand cupping her face and closed her eyes.  She had never wanted to forget that moment.

 

And now, she couldn’t.  Piper shivered.  She had much preferred the journey out, to this long, silent walk back to Goodneighbor.  Her thoughts were never far behind her, but bickering with Hancock had kept them at bay.  She closed her eyes and wished for anything but this silence.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cait finds some trouble in Goodneighbor. Curie deals with the difficulty of her new life, and figuring out how to combat the destruction caused by overusing stimpacks. Deacon gets a new arm.

Chapter 9

“Hey.  Anything to around here?”  The drifter glanced her way when he heard her voice.  Then he gave her a look and scooted away.  Cait sighed.  “Great.  Everyone’s so personable.”  She leaned on the little wall near the entrance to Goodneighbor and cupper her chin in her hands.  There had been plenty to watch.  People coming in, going out, whispering, shouting, getting into fights over nothing.  But nothing big.  The town was still hanging in a precarious balance, right on the razor’s edge between tension and chaos.  It just needed a little nudge.

Cait sat on the wall and pulled her legs up, causally lounging on top of it. 

“Hey.”  It was the girl who’d been up in Hancock’s office earlier.  His bodyguard.  She sauntered over to the wall and leaned on it herself.  She smiled over at Cait.  “Nice day for a fight, huh?”

Cait shrugged.  “Any day’s a good day for that.”

“Mmmhmm.”  The girl lit a match and took a long drag on her cigarette.  “Want one?”  She held the box out to Cait.

“Sure,” Cait took a cigarette and the match the girl held out.  She lit the cigarette and inhaled.  “You’re Hancock’s bodyguard?”

“I am.  And you?”  The girl’s eyes cut over, studying her.

“I’m a fighter.”  Cait wasn’t really anything right now, but that was something that would always be a true statement. 

The girl smiled.  “I can tell.  Do you want to get in a fight?”

“You lookin’ to start one?” Cait asked, blinking.

“Well.” The girl turned and let her back rest against the wall.  She gave a long, slow stretch, like a cat, but not the kind people kept as pets. “There’s a couple of guys causing some trouble.  Think they’re going to do a number on town morale.  And I can’t have that when we’re close to a real fight, big one.  Don’t need a lot—just to shut a few mouths, get some hot blood pumping.  And, if someone doesn’t start a fight soon,” she added “then anyone’s going to do it.  Better to make it when and where you want. Make sure you get the right kind of catharsis.”

“Why’d you ask me?” Cait stopped smoking and looked at the cigarette between her fingers.

“You looked bored.  Besides, I’d like to know how much we can count on you in scrape.”  The bodyguard took a slow drag, and an equally slow smile crept across her face.  “Also, it sounded fun.”

“Alright,” Cait hopped off the wall.  “You’ve talked me into it.”

The girl stood up.  “This way.”

Cait followed the girl into the Hotel Rexford.  Cait picked out the men before the girl pointed to them.  She’d seen people like them before.  Weasley and mean—made you think of words like _lurk,_ and _cheap,_ and _fragile._

“Afraid to get into a real scrap, huh?”  Cait asked.

“Can’t have people doubting the Mayor right now.”  The girl exhaled a puff of smoke.  “So.”

“Right.”  Cait tossed her cigarette on the floor and walked up to the closer of the men.  “Hey!”  She punched him in the face.  The whole windup through punch he just stared at her, like he couldn’t register what was happening. Her fist slammed into his cheek and he went down.  The people closest to them stopped talking. 

“What the hell?”  One of the man’s friends.

Cait’s feet found their most familiar ground.  A center of balance.  Ready to fight.  “Don’t act like you don’t know what you’ve done, you cheatin’ bastard!”

“What?”

The friend who’d spoken up got a fist to the chin and fell back against a table.  That had done it.  The room exploded into chaos.

The girl had been right.  The town needed it.  Cait was vaguely aware of bottles and chairs, and shouts and blood, but she was only ever truly focused on the opponent in front of her.  It shifted, of course, which opponent.  When she fought, it was like a little bubble formed around her and anything within it she could see as if she was looking at it from all angles at once.  Anything outside the bubble, it was like it didn’t really exist.  Sound was different, sight was different, time was different.  Pain was different.  It was quick and glancing.  The closest to a high you could get without chems, and Cait had been dying for a fight.  The objects flying through the air only existed when they entered her space, and she would move out of the way.  She was vaguely aware of the girl a few times.  She entered the bubble, dragging a guy with her.  She threw him across a table, and was gone again. 

When the fight ended, Cait’s knuckles were bloody.  She wasn’t sure if it was hers and she’d skinned them, or if it was someone else’s.  People all around her were breathing hard.  And then, laughing.  The room was in shambles.  Drifters helped their friends and opponents to their feet, straightening tattered clothes.  Black eyes, little cuts, broken noses.  A man spat a bloody tooth onto the floor.  The man he’d been fighting put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head sadly, then pulled back his head and spat a tooth of his own, twice the distance.  He grinned at the other man.  A girl stood up and picked her jacket up off the floor, only to find it had been ripped in half.  She stared at it for a second, then put it back on, one half at a time.  The room was beginning to buzz with talk and bubble with laughter.  Cait found herself grinning.

The tension that had been building up in the town had eased.  Everyone had needed to fight something, anything—and now, they had. 

“Let ‘em come!”  A girl nearby threw an arm around her friend’s neck.

“Are you going to fight them off with that little powersilde?” The drifter laughed at the girl. 

She grinned back.  “Absolutely.”  She pointed at her knees.  “Didn’t even skin them.”

Cait noticed an unopened beer laying on the ground near an overturned chair.  Someone had lost it in the scuffle.  She moved over to the chair and picked it up, opening it and sitting on the overturned chair.  She took a swig and poured a little of it over the skinned knuckles on her left hand.

“Nice fight.”  It was the girl from earlier.  She picked up a little coffee table and set it upright by Cait’s chair.  The girl sat down.  Her heavy armor had a few specks of blood on it, and she had a tiny cut on her forehead.  She noticed Cait’s eyes on it and smiled.  “Had to have something to remember it by.”

“You were right.  It was fun.”  Cait took another drink, and held out the bottle.  “Drink?”

The girl took a swig from it and handed it back.  “Fahrenheit.  By the way.”

“Cait.”

Fahrenheit and Cait sat in the shambles of the Hotel Rexford and shared a beer, as the town pulled itself together around them.  

* * *

 

 

Curie used an arm to wipe the sweat off her brow.  She was tired.  She was still not used to being tired, and hungry, and hurting.  _So many things are so different to a human._ Curie looked down at her hand.  Skin.  Breathing.  So many things to remember to do, and so many things you had to forget, so you could pay attention.  Truly, the whole experience was something else.

Like pain.  She hadn’t felt it as a robot.  The first little cut she’d gotten on her hand had terrified her.  There was no way to put words to feeling pain for the first time in your life.  She had known, scientifically, that she would be fine, but it had felt like she was perhaps going to die. 

Of course, she was getting used to it now, along with everything else.  Sleeping, eating, taking care of your body.  Mon dieu, it was so easy to forget little things about looking out for a body.  Science hadn’t readied her for this.  But she was proud of herself—of her accomplishments—of making a better stimpack.  It was a small accomplishment, but it was still a scientific advancement, designed to help people, to heal.  She had actually been able to _create_ something in this world—something to make the world better, even if by just one small amount.  The thrill she had felt was…well, there was nothing she had ever known before that was like it.  It made your chest ache like it should explode, but it was somehow still a good feeling.

She wondered, for a moment, if there was a human word for that feeling. What it might be.

All she had wanted to do ever since wanting had become a thing in her life, was to learn more and more, and to make scientific advancements to help humanity.  But this—this had all been so much easier as a robot.  Without so many chemical feelings crashing around in her brain.  She wasn’t even sure what emotion was prevailing in her at this moment.  Sorrow for the loss of Sole?  Confusion, stress, anxiety?  Too much to feel at once! And there was more, and more—hope for she didn’t even know what, fear for the future, doubt in herself.  And which was strongest?  Perhaps it was even anger—anger at the injustice of it all.  Or maybe sympathy...

Deacon.  She had always felt sympathy towards people, but it was different, with a body.  Maybe what she’d done before was think sympathetic.  Because, with a body, it hurt more.  It hurt physically, it hurt in new ways she’d never imagined.  When she cut into the flesh on his arm and slowly amputated the wounded limb, she felt a twinge of pain, as if she was cutting her own arm.  She wanted to vomit when she saw the blackened fingers, and it wasn’t because she found the smell disgusting, it was because she imagined how his fingers must feel while dying.  What it would be like if her fingers turned black while she watched.  _Sympathetic pain—how ridiculous!  To flinch at pain you do not feel.  How do humans do anything at all?_

Deacon’s face was pale.  She and Andrews had worked fast—they’d had to.  Chemically forced life had kept him going for almost two days now, in the form of a multitude of stimpacks, but stimpacks were not something to be overused.  Stimpacks were an incredible invention, it was true—a miracle and gift of science. but to overuse them—it was dangerous.  There could be serious complications.  You can only force a body to tear itself back together so many times before the tear becomes the prevailing part of the action, and not the “back together.” 

And Deacon, Deacon had lost a lot of blood.  

They’d had to be very careful when amputating, not to lose more.  They’d still lost more than she’d hoped.  Andrews had, thankfully, procured some blood packs, and hooked Deacon up to one while they worked.  She could tell Andrews had not done this before, but he had held up quite well under pressure in spite of it.  He was a good medic, particularly for a human so young.  She could tell he also was distracted by the same sympathetic pain she experienced. 

Perhaps if you were a doctor long enough, you stopped feeling it.  Curie certainly hoped so.  It would be quite unfair otherwise.  To live a life of healing others, and be forced to endure pain for it.

Perhaps it was meant to be that way—poetic. Poetic and hard, like everything in life was seeming to be the longer she lived.

She was not the one in real pain though, she knew this.  Deacon’s physical condition was not good.  He should not have survived his fight with Sole. 

His face was pale, and, despite being a fairly muscular adult man, he looked somehow…breakable, or frail to Curie.  Like a marble statue worn down by a sandstorm, until it was only vaguely recognizable as what it was supposed to be. 

They had attached the new arm.  It had gone well.  Curie had never done something like it before, but as far as she could tell, scientifically, they had made no errors.  Now the test would be if Deacon’s mind would be able to successfully interface with the synth arm.  It hadn’t been too hard to rework.  The synth arm’s controls worked on electric impulses, just like a human brain.  It just took a little modifying to work it into something that would translate appropriately from machine to brain.  Something that _should_ translate.  _Please._ Curie bit her lip.  Doubt was something she had struggled with as a robot.  As a human, it was unbearable. 

Success or failure, all she and Andrews could do was wait for him to wake up now, and see how it had gone.

They had both had something to drink, and talked, while Andrews cleaned his medical supplies.  She had been vaguely worried since she’d seen Deacon’s left hand, but it was during this conversation that her level of concern about his condition had become truly justified.

She had noticed he looked like his healing was a little…Strange.  But listening to Andrews describe his injuries, there was something else to it, too.  It was like his body wasn’t reacting to the stimpacks the way it should.  Stimpacks build off the body’s natural ability to heal itself, but…But they call upon a human body to things it is not designed to do.  While organisms that regenerate limbs do so through mitosis, the same _process_ involved in human healing of wounds, a human body cannot naturally perform in the ways a stimpack causes it to. It simply is not a level human genetics are built to perform at.  Bones are not meant to reconstruct themselves.  Humans cannot spawn new limbs, like a lizard.  Cells can only divide a finite number of times, and generation of new cells is not infinite…

The human body is not an unending power source.  Everything in a human body takes time.  Repeatedly forcing it to speed up, to overperform, to do the nearly impossible to itself, against the body’s innate design and wishes, again and again and again…

She had thought that this was why his healing was off—because too much damage had been done, and too many stimpacks used.  An overdose of healing, a temporary sort of—how could she phrase it—tolerance, perhaps.  Overstimulation, so much healing, too much drugs, not enough body left with enough life in it to perform what was already miraculous.  But now she was no longer so sure.  There were parts of him that just weren’t healing the way they should.  Stimpacks kick the body’s natural healing into hyperdrive.  And Deacon’s chest, his bullet wound, and the blast he’d taken to the side—all three of these had healed as they should, as made sense.  The stimpack they had used to heal the amputated area had worked perfectly as well.  But…it was…as if part of him did not realize it needed to be healed.

If there was truly some huge problem interfering with the healing, as Curie had at first thought, it should affect all of him, but it did not.  The hand had probably been dead before the stimpack had a chance to heal it, so this could be explained.  But his ear.  Andrews had told her it hadn’t healed yet.  That Deacon said he was still having trouble hearing from it. 

It did not make sense.  So, as Deacon was still unconscious, she taken a look at it.  And…It was fine.  As far as she could tell.  So then, why couldn’t he hear?

* * *

  

Deacon woke up slowly.  Everything was in a fog—a haze?  How were you supposed to describe that?  Everything was slow and blurry, fading in and out.

He tried to sit up.  Something was wrong—he could still feel his arm.  Shouldn’t it be gone by now?

He dragged himself to a sitting position, blinking at the bright room, trying to get his eyes to adjust.  For a second, he thought it was empty.  But then he saw X6-88, by the desk, watching him.  Deacon followed the synth’s gaze and looked down. 

He tilted his head and just looked at it for a second. His left arm.  It lay still on the operating table.  But, from the elbow down, it wasn’t his arm anymore.  It was the synth arm Curie and Andrews had showed him.  Any yet, he could still feel his arm.  His hand.  As if it were there.

Deacon slowly raised his left arm.  So far, so good.  He held it up to the light and turned it, very slowly and cautiously, as if he was afraid it would fall off and clatter to the floor.  He moved his wrist.  The arm responded to his thought, turning right, then left.  Finally, he tried moving his fingers.  He slowly bent them into a fist.  It was so strange, he felt simultaneously as if the metallic thing attached to his arm wasn’t even real, and like his old arm was still there. 

But it wasn’t.  He looked to his right and saw it, the old arm, sitting on a tray on the counter, mostly covered by a cloth.  He stared at the new hand again, flexing the fingers, watching the metallic joints move.  He became aware of Andrews and Curie.  They were far to his left.  They had been sitting on the couch, but they were both standing now, watching him.

Curie looked happy and relieved.  Andrews was practically beaming.

“It worked!”  Andrews grabbed Curie’s arm in excitement, then hurried over to Deacon.  “How does it feel?”

“Like my old arm.  Minus physical sensations like touch, I guess.”  Deacon blinked at it.  He touched the metal hand with his right hand.  He felt it, but he only the right hand, touching metal.  “I guess that’s okay, though.  It’s not like I need to worry about accidentally burning my new hand or anything.  Overheating it would just make me less fun to get sucker-punched by.”  He half expected to hear Cait laugh, but she wasn’t in the room anymore.  Too bad.  It hadn’t been a great joke.  No one else was going to find it funny.

“I would not recommend doing that.  You might end up damaging the limb.”  Curie couldn’t tell he was trying to be funny. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.”  Deacon carefully swung his legs over the table and prepared to hop down.

“Take it slow!”  Andrews warned, hurrying forward to offer assistance, if needed.  “The drug I gave you to knock you out might make you a little light headed.”

“Noted.”  Deacon very gingerly put his feet on the ground and stood up.  He instantly regretted it.  He was glad he still had both hands on the table behind him to hold himself up.  Once he got his footing, he looked at Andrews.  “It doesn’t hurt.”  He held up his new arm.  “I mean, where you amputated.  Is that normal?”

“Oui.  It was healed with a stimpack.  However, the arm is imbedded in your tissue, for a firm connection—like bone and skin were before.  So, it may be a little sore at first.  Once you begin to use it.”  Curie was proud.  She’d done a good job.

Deacon flexed his fingers, watching the metal hand again. 

“How is it?  Does it respond okay?  It looks like it’s doing pretty well.”  Andrews hovered close by, watching anxiously.

Deacon wasn’t entirely sure yet.  It wasn’t what he’d expected.  He was still aware of his real arm, under that cloth on that counter, just five feet away. It was hard to describe what it feels like to lose a limb.  And even then, he’d skipped the middle step, and gone straight to having a replacement.  No time for missing the original body part, or being without it.  His arm...  Maybe this was better. 

He decided the best decision was to just act like nothing had happened to him, and try to never think about it again.  “Yeah, it’s pretty much the same, I guess.  Just a different shape and size.”  He stopped looking at the arm and tried to smile at Andrews and Curie.  “Thanks.  Now I can get right back out there.”

“I do not think so,” Curie shook her head.  She took everything rather literally.  “You are still recovering from severe injuries.  Your body needs more rest.  You should wait a little before engaging in combat again.” 

“I’m glad we could help.”  Andrews smiled back.  He took things less literally.  “Most of the rest of your injuries seem to be healing well, too.  How’s your ear?”

Deacon still couldn’t hear a single thing out of it. Not even ringing.  “Still not back to normal.  Probably just healing slow.”

Curie looked perplexed.  “I do not understand.  I inspected your injuries quite thoroughly, and I cannot find what is causing trouble for your ear.  It seems to be perfectly well healed.”

“What?”  Deacon had been thinking that something had been so injured, the stimpacks just hadn’t been able to fix it.  “Are you sure?”

Curie nodded.  Andrews put a hand on her shoulder.  “But, since it’s not working, we must have missed something.  For now, just take it easy on that ear, and, uh, let us know if anything changes?  We’ll keep trying to figure it out.”

“Sure.”  Deacon’s gaze had automatically slid back to the new arm. 

Curie and Andrews traded a few more words, then left.  A few of the other Minutemen had been wounded in the fight with X6-88, and Curie had volunteered to help Andrews make rounds.  Deacon sat down once they left.  Codsworth had stayed behind, and now offered that cup of tea Deacon had said he might want later.  Deacon took it and stared thoughtfully into it, mind wandering, while Codsworth floated nearby.  It had been a companionable silence.

However, the silence didn’t last long.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cait levels with Deacon, Ellie finds Nick.

Chapter 10

Amari had gone upstairs a little before Deacon woke up, to confer with her partner about something.  Deacon and Codsworth sat by the couch and X6-88 remained silently chained to the desk, when footsteps sounded on the stairs.  Deacon looked up. 

“Hey, where’s Nicky?”  It was Cait who appeared in the doorway. She’d asked the room in general, before seeing who was actually there.  Her head swung over and she saw him.  She lost focus on her task for a second when she saw the arm.  “Damn, they did that fast, didn’t they?”  Cait walked over, followed by Fahrenheit, at a casual stroll.  “How’s it feel?”

Deacon set the untouched cup of tea on the couch beside him and made a fist with the metal hand, then let his fingers extend again.  “Good.”

Cait nodded.  “Pack a punch with that thing now, won’t you?” 

Deacon noticed a third person appearing in the doorway, a little behind Fahrenheit.  “Ellie Perkins?”  He was sure it was her.  He’d spent plenty of time doing reconnaissance in Diamond City.  Nick Valentine’s secretary.  Interesting.

Cait looked behind herself at the girl and nodded.  “Yeah, came looking for Valentine.  You know where he’s gone?”

“Yeah, I think so.”  Deacon stood.  It was his turn to double take when he noticed Cait’s knuckles.  “You uh, found some entertainment, huh Cait?”

Cait grinned at him.  “Me’n Fahrenheit had a little fun.”  Deacon joined Cait and the two of them walked over towards Ellie.  Codsworth floated quietly behind.  “Damn, if felt good to be pick’n a fight.  Too bad you missed it.”

“Yeah, I could have taken this for a test ride,” Deacon held out his new arm.

“Can you fight though?” Cait gave him a quizzical look. “Not a gun fight, but a scrap?”

“Yes.” Deacon sounded offended. “What do you mean can I--I can fight. I’m a top-notch scrapper.”

“Uh, huh,” Cait replied, eyeing him.

They reached Ellie, and Fahrenheit joined them.  Deacon gave Cait a look, then turned to Ellie. “You’re looking for Nick?”

Ellie nodded.  “Yeah.”  Deacon heard a whine and looked down.  Dogmeat poked his head out from behind Ellie and looked around the room.

“Hey boy,” Deacon knelt down and the dog padded over to him.  He stroked the dog’s head and ruffled his ears, then looked back up at Ellie.  “I see you brought company.”

Dogmeat curiously sniffed Deacon’s new arm, cocking his head.  He gave the metal a curious lick.

“I dunno why you waste so much love on that mangy thing,” Cait said, folding her arms.  “Do you know where Nick is, or not?”

“Yeah, I think so.  I think he was going to use the room Kent usually broadcasts from—to get ready.”  Deacon was still crouched, petting the dog.  Dogmeat woofed, and pawed at Deacon’s leg.  Deacon rubbed behind his ears and the happy animal licked him in the face.  Deacon’s face was still a little cut up and bruised, but it didn’t really hurt.  He smiled and patted the dog on the head a final time, then stood up.  “I can show you.”

“I know the way,” Ellie replied.  She’d grown up in Goodneighbor.  It was nice to be home.

Deacon inclined his head.  “Then lead the way.”

Ellie started up the stairs.  Deacon followed, Cait just behind him.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Fahrenheit pause to toss the dog a piece of meat she’d had in her pocket, before following them up the stairs.

“Why are you looking for him, anyway?” Deacon asked as they headed up.  He was still a little light-headed, but the stimpacks had done their job, and he was slowly getting some strength back.

Ellie tossed a worried look at him from over her shoulder.  “Diamond City.  They’re shutting the gate—going into lockdown.  Everyone back there is in a panic over the Institute.  They’re kind of going crazy, apparently--accusing everyone and their mother of being a synth.  The way things are, and with Nick leaving right before it started…”  She bit her lip.  “I just don’t think him going back there right away is a good idea.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Cait said from behind Deacon.  Ellie paused to turn and look at her in surprise.  “He’s not goin’ anywhere up here for awhile.”

“He’s—we have a plan—to get inside the Institute,” Deacon elaborated.  “Nick’s the key.  He thinks he can infiltrate it.”

“Because he’s a synth?” Ellie looked aghast.  “But he could die—more than the usual Nick amount!”

“He’s the only good chance we got.”  Cait was determined.  She had not been a big fan of the plan that involved relying on X6-88 getting a _successful_ mind wipe.

Ellie started up the stairs again.  “Then, I want to talk to him.  Before he goes.” 

Deacon stopped, and by virtue of the small staircase, so did everyone behind him.  “Do you want to go alone?”

Ellie tilted her head, then nodded.  “Yeah, yeah, I do.  Thanks.”

Deacon inclined his head, then turned to Cait and Fahrenheit as Ellie disappeared up the stairs.  “Any sign of Preston and the others?  Or the scouting groups looking for Vertibirds?”

Fahrenheit nodded.  “Hancock, Preston, and the others aren’t back with Danse yet, but several runners are.  Looks like Valentine was right—the vertibird at Cambridge is still there.  Speaking of which,” Fahrenheit had been smoking, but now she dropped the cigarette to the stairs and ground it out with her boot “I need to go talk with Neighborhood Watch.  Get some things…straightened out, for when Hancock gets back here.”  She moved a surprised Cait in order to pass her, and Deacon hurriedly moved against a wall to make room for her to pass him.  Fahrenheit reached the top of the stairs and smiled back at Cait.  “Hey, pleasure doing business with you.”

“Yeah, let’s do it again sometime.”  Cait watched her go.  Codsworth hadn’t followed them up, so suddenly Deacon and Cait were alone on the stairs.  There was silence for a few seconds.  Cait looked away at one of the walls for a minute, then up at Deacon.  He could tell she’d made some sort of decision.  “Deacon. Could we talk for a minute?”

Deacon turned to more directly face her.  “Sure.  What’s up?”

“Not here, maybe.”  Cait tapped the wall with a finger, thinking.  She looked up at him again.  “Let’s take it downstairs.”

Deacon inclined his head, and followed Cait back into the downstairs room.  When they walked in, Codsworth and Dogmeat were still by the door. 

Cait folded her arms across her chest and addressed the robot.  “Hey, rusty, you mind clearin’ out?”

“I actually suffer from very little oxidation,” Codsworth responded, only a little miffed.  “But yes, I can leave you to have your…whatever, in privacy.”

“Thanks, Codsworth,” Deacon said as the robot flew past.  Codsworth acknowledged the thank you, then disappeared up the stairs.  “So,” Deacon folded his fingers together and faced Cait again “what is it?”

“Yeah,” Cait swung her arms absently at her side “right.”  She looked around, then finally settled on the couch, and sat down.

Deacon waited a second to make sure he was supposed to, then sat next to her. 

Cait took a breath, and looked straight ahead.  “Look, ah, I’m sorry about your friends.”  She tilted her head to look at him again. 

Deacon nodded to accept the condolences, not really sure where this was leading. If it was going anywhere. 

She went on.  “I know I never really cared much for the Railroad—still can’t see the sense in chasing after a bunch of wayward synths, all across the Commonwealth. Fools if you ask me, but I went there, with Sole—couple of times.  First time I went, he was there for a long time.  Like a damn long time. Talking to you lot, about god knows what.  But it took hours.  Didn’t really know Sole back then—it was pretty soon after he took up my contract.  I just sat there not really knowin’ what to do, waiting for him to come back.  That girl, Glory—I think she was a friend of yours.”

She waited for confirmation.  He nodded again.

“She noticed I’d been there for awhile waiting on Sole—offered me beer.  Liked my bat—asked me about meleeing my way through the commonwealth.  Talked for a few minutes about weapons together.  I liked her.  She had a bigass gun.  Saw her a couple more times too, later, when Sole brought me again.  Girl packed a real punch.”  She checked to see what Deacon’s expression was.  “I’m sorry she’s gone, synth or no.”

“She was a good one.”  It was true.  She really had been.  …God.

“Anyway,” Cait took another breath and went back to looking straight ahead. She was quiet for a little longer than was usual for a pause in a conversation.  Deacon waited.  “I dunno.  I guess I wanted to tell someone.  Why I’m here.”

“Helping?” Deacon asked, still watching her patiently.

“Yeah.  Or—why I hate Sole.  I guess I wanted to say it out loud so someone as wasn’t me would know.  But I don’t think anymore but you might understand it.”

“Understand why?”  Deacon tried to read her expression.

Cait shook her head.  “Understand Sole.”  She let out an irritated breath.  “Look, this isn’t easy.  Not talking about Sole—or thinking about him.  Damn him—he’s still managin’ to control how I...”  Cait’s hand twisted into a fist.  She looked away.  “I never trusted anyone in my whole damn life, because everyone I ever met has been out to use me.  And then, for some god-only-knows reason, he comes along, and for once it’s someone interested in something other than my ass!  Or at least something along with it.”  Cait looked at Deacon again.  “It was like—I actually had someone lookin’ out for me, for once.  Just because he wanted to, for some reason—'n not because he wanted something from me.”

“Yeah.  Sole was like that.”  Deacon looked down, then back at Cait.  “I thought he was.”

“Yeah, well.”  Cait’s tone was changing.  She was fighting to keep it level.  She paused for several seconds again before continuing.  “I don’t know what he meant to any of you, but he was everything to me.  The only real friend I ever had.  The things he did for me?  I never coulda deserved.”  She closed her eyes.  “Said he loved me.  I knew he was with Piper already, but I didn’t care.  I thought it didn’t matter.  He said it didn’t.  Being with him took very little persuading.  And I was so goddamn happy.  It was like nothing I’d ever known before.  I did anything for him.”

Deacon said nothing.  It wasn’t time to respond yet.  He could tell from her face.

Cait wasn’t looking at him at all anymore.  “And then, one day he up and leaves me at a settlement, sayin’ he’ll be back soon.  Leaves me, tells me to help out work there.  And I think he’ll come back, because why wouldn’t he?  So I do.  I wait for him.  Like his dog.  I see him every once in awhile, but only for a night, and he’s gone again.  And then for a long time, nothing.  Instead I start to hear he’s been out doing a lot of things, things like I can’t believe.  Killing people who were his friends.  Like Glory.  And he comes by one day and I grab him and ask about it, and you know what he says to me?  He says ‘It’s no different than what you used to do.’  Well I tell him it damn well is.  And you know what he does.  He just looks me in the eye, and says ‘Listen, Cait, you were fun, but this is more important’n you and me.  This is about family.’  I tell him that’s no kind of explanation, but he doesn’t care.  I try to get through to him, but he won’t listen to anything I say.  He says it doesn’t concern me, it’s his business.  All of it.  Leaving me, killing them—changing.  I tell him ‘Go to hell!’ and I won’t be there when he gets back, and he tells me ‘Fine. Go on.  It doesn’t matter.’ and he walks off.  Not even angry with me.  I think that’s what really got me.  ‘More important ‘n you,’ and that was it.”

The room was silent.  Deacon hadn’t ever seen this expression on Cait before.  Just…Burned-out.

“Do you know what that meant?” Cait still didn’t meet Deacon’s eye.  She was fixed on the wall opposite her. “It meant every damn thing I’d ever used to think I knew, was right, and everything I had just started hoping, was really exactly what I’d been afraid of all along.  I ended up the same damn thing again, only this time, I didn’t realize I was being used until it was all over.  This time it was worse, because I was a willing slave—like that thing back there.”

X6-88 had been listening, and when Cait indicated him, he started in surprise and looked back up at her in something that, for just a second, was close to resembling shock.

Cait went on.  “Only, he hasn’t figured it out yet.  Almost makes me pity him.”  Her voice had grown very low and bitter.  Now it rose into a sudden, fierce anger.  “But me, I have, and I’m god damn done with it all!  I’m never going to take that kind of shit again.  I can’t do anything to him anymore, which ain’t fair, but I get you had your reasons too, and since it’s all I got now I’m more’n ready to help tear apart that bastard’s precious ‘future’ that was so god damn special!”

The room was silent for a full ten seconds before Deacon spoke “…Cait.” 

She turned her face to look at him for the first time since she hadn’t been able to control the emotion in her voice.  He hadn’t heard her cry, but her face was wet and her eyes were red, and full of hate. 

His turn to look away.  “I’m sorry.”

Sole had given something to both of them.  A chance to believe that life could be different.  And when he had changed, Sole hadn’t just taken it back, either, that chance.  He’d ground it into dust.  And left them empty.  There was no more promise that things could…That they could…

Deacon held out his hand.  His left hand, automatically.  Cait looked down at the cold metal.  Sole had broken them both.

She took the hand.  “Yeah.  Well I’m mad.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

Ellie reached the door to what was usually Kent’s office.  In every memory she had of this door, it was always open, so much that she’d forgotten there was even a door, not a hall. But for the first time in her life, it was shut. 

Ellie hesitated, then rapped quietly on the door.  “Nick?”  She opened the door slowly and stepped in. 

The room was dim, but Nick turned his head anyway, back into the shadows, away from the candle on the table.  Ellie couldn’t see him well.  The room was darker than usual.  Why—that was…off.

Ellie took another step and closed the door behind her.  She could see his eyes, glowing, even at this angle.  But something was wrong.  “Nick?”

“Ellie, why are you here, in Goodneighbor?  I thought you were holding down the fort.”  he sounded the same. 

“Diamond City.  It’s in an uproar—because of the Institute.  I don’t think it’d be safe for you to go back right now, people acting as crazy as they are—so I came to warn you.”  She’d taken several steps closer. 

It had taken her eyes a couple seconds to adjust.  It was much dimmer in here than it had been outside, in the Memory Den.  Nick was turned mostly away from her.  He wasn’t wearing his hat.

Ellie took another step.  “Deacon said you were going to the Institute—is it true?  Nick, it’s so dangerous to…”  She had gotten close enough to see him now.

She froze, and panic welled up in her chest instinctively.  Not Nick.

His face was like a metallic skeleton—somehow more unnerving than bone, because it was artificial.  His glowing eyes were rounder now, and his face expressionless.  He didn’t really have a face, anymore.  He looked like any Generation 1 synth.  Like a carved mask, made to frighten people away.  He looked nothing like himself.  Completely inhuman.  Terrifying and unreal, in the dim light of the room.  Like something you saw out of the corner of your eye as a small child, stalking you at night, when it was late and you were afraid and there was no one old enough to protect you.

His eyes met hers and then he looked down.  Still expressionless.  His hat lay on the table behind him, and his coat was hung over the chair.  This was the most of his “body” she had ever seen.  Bolts holding together plastic plates on his arms, metallic wires across the metal skull, to hold up a plastic face.  The metal teeth locked in a grin.  Chinks and dents, too.  Tears on the plastic, mannequin-like arm and chest.

Like a monster.

Usually, Ellie forget he wasn’t human.  Now neither of them could forget it.

His head was still down.  He didn’t look at her.  But he spoke.  “Blending in, on the inside.” 

An explanation.

Slowly, Ellie took the last few steps towards him.  She knelt down by his knees, just low enough to be looking up into his lowered gaze.  She put her arms across her knees and rested her chin on them, and smiled up at him.

“Pretty grisly, huh?”  He asked her.  His face couldn’t make an expression, but he sounded like he was trying to smile.

“I dunno, my skeleton doesn’t have eyes—I think it might be grislier.”  Ellie met his eyes for a second, then he looked away.  Ellie reached over and picked up his hat, from where it rested on the table.  She placed it on his head and flicked the tip with her finger, cocking it to just the right angle.  She rested her arms back on her knees and smiled up at him again.  “Much better.  You make for a pretty handsome skeleton, in that getup.  Dapper.”

She knew he was smiling, expression or no.  “Do you think so?  I might have to get it re-sized, just a little.”  He wasn’t avoiding her eyes now. 

She picked up his metal hand and intertwined his fingers with hers.  “You have to promise me something, Nick.  If you’re going to the Institute to save the world, you have to come back.  Preferably in one piece, but alive is non-negotiable.”

“You’re really hard up for a job.”  Almost laughter in his voice. 

“Good work is hard to come by.”  She looked into his face easily now.  The shock had completely worn away.  Just Nick.  “You don’t get out of promising with a joke, though.  I’m not letting go of this hand until I get it.  Do you _want_ to drag me to the Institute with you?  Because don’t think I won’t follow.”

He did laugh then.  That laugh was the most familiar sound in the world. 

“Alright, Ellie.  I promise.”

She wondered if he believed it.  She wanted to believe he did.  “Good.  Because the Commonwealth needs you, Nick, and we’re not going to find another one.  Besides,” she reached up and pulled the tip of the hat down over his eyes “I might miss you.”

He had to fix the hat with his free hand before he could see her again.  “I’ll do my best, Ellie.  You stay safe up here.  I might even miss you too.”

She propped her elbow up on her knee and placed her chin in her hand.  “Mmm, good secretaries hard to find?” 

“I’ll let you know once I find one.”  He rested his elbow on his knee and matched her stance. 

She laughed. 

“Good friends on the other hand,” his fingers tightened around hers “very rare.  You have to try to hold onto those.”

“Well you better make it back, then.”

“You’ll be here?”

“Always.”  Ellie took his other hand with hers.

“Then I guess I’ll have to come back.”

“Back home?”

“Back home.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The groups reunite in Goodneighbor. MacCready remembers why he's here, but can't help second-guessing his choices.

Chapter 11

“Pardon me.”

Deacon and Cait looked up.  Codsworth had appeared in the doorway.

“It would appear that Mayor Hancock, Mister Garvey, Miss Piper, and Mister MacCready have arrived back in Goodneighbor, with Paladin Danse.”

They were both up in a second.  Deacon’s “Thanks Codsworth” overlapped with Cait’s “Finally, I was gettin’ bored.”

“Quite welcome,” Codsworth replied, then disappeared back up the stairs. 

Deacon and Cait hurried out, catching up to the robot inside the Memory Den’s main room.  All three stepped out into the streets of Goodneighbor together.  They hurried down the lane, Cait easily taking the lead, and arrived at the gate just as the successful expedition plus one power-armored Danse was closing the door behind them.

Cait reached the group first.  She came to a stop near Fahrenheit, who had been speaking with Hancock.  “Hey, I see you managed to find him after all.”

“Yeah, we did.”  Piper looked pretty proud of herself.  “And Fahrenheit says there’s still a bird at Cambridge.”

“Deacon!”  Preston’s tired expression turned to a smile when he saw the other man making his way through the nearby crowd.  Preston moved past the others and met Deacon halfway into the throng of curious onlookers there to see their Mayor in action.  He clasped the other man’s arm in greeting.  “You look better.”  Thank god, he really did. 

Deacon was smiling.  “And you all seem to have made it back without a scratch.”

“Yeah, well, it was a close-run thing there for a second,” called MacCready from in the back, side-eying Piper.

“Oh, you were fine,” Piper retorted.  “It worked, didn’t it?” 

Preston looked down at Deacon’s new arm, noticing the thin metal frame for the first time.  “It looks like Andrews got it to work.”  He was relieved, and tried not to show how much.  It had sounded like a risk when Andrews pitched it to him.  But then, the new skin around the place where the old arm met the new looked a little red.  “Does it hurt?”

Deacon, internally wondering that himself, held up the arm and moved it for Preston to see.  “Nah, it’s just like the old one.”

Preston let out a breath.  “Good.  Glad to hear it.”  He put a hand on Deacon’s shoulder, then turned back to face the others.

Hancock seemed to have finished whatever discussion he was having with Fahrenheit.  “Hey, Baron, get over here.”

It took Danse a second to register that Hancock was addressing him.  His expression filled with mixed confusion and disapproval.  “My former rank was Paladin.  Baron isn’t even a rank within the brotherhood.”

“Well, damn.”  Hancock cocked his head as if truly surprised.  “Thought for sure ‘Baron’ was part of your name.  Guess I forgot.”  He turned back to the rest of the group.  “Anyway, solas victorium here has agreed to help.  And he thinks he can fly a vertibird.”

“He thinks?”  Deacon didn’t sound like he wanted to be on that vertibird.

“‘Ad Victorium,’ it’s not my name or rank, and I _can_ fly a vertibird.  It’s just been awhile since I had to.”  Danse looked miffed.

Preston nodded at Danse and turned back to Deacon.  “How are things here?  Nick and Amari ready?”

“I think close to it anyway.”  Deacon had been out cold on a table most of the afternoon.  Fahrenheit nodded from over behind Hancock, backing up his guess.

“Where is Nick, anyway?”  Piper was looking around the crowd, hoping to see him.

“I haven’t seen him since you lot left,” Cait replied.  “Think he disappeared to go take his face off.”

“Oh.”  Piper looked disappointed.  “Right.”

“Miss Piper, Mister Garvey, Mayor Hancock.  It is good to see you all have returned safely.”  Codsworth had floated his way through the crowd, stopping by Piper.  “Where is Mister MacCready?”

“I’m over here.”  The shorter man pushed his way around Danse until he was no longer completely obscured by the power armor.

“Ah,” Codsworth replied, leaving MacCready uncomfortably unclear on if this brought relief or disappointment.

“Good to see you too.” Piper smiled at the robot.

“Well, let’s go pick up Nick, and head out to Cambridge,” Hancock said, stretching.  He turned to Deacon.  “You know where he went?”

Danse had moved up to join the group when Hancock called him, but missed the earlier exchange between Deacon and Preston. He gave Deacon a look and turned to Preston.  “Who is that man, and why is everyone conferring with him?”

Piper’s expression was disbelieving.  “That’s Deacon, Danse.”

Danse had only ever run into Deacon when traveling with Sole, and he sort of relied on Sole’s identifying the man.  With no wig, wearing an off the shoulder shirt (employed to make room for a mass of bandages on part of his chest), his face messed up and one eye still dark with bruises, a synthetic arm on one side, and not even his common denominator of sunglasses, the only hope Danse had ever had of telling who the man was, he hadn’t recognized Deacon at all.  .

“Deacon?” he was almost unbelieving.

Deacon answered for himself.  “Yep.” 

“What in the hell happened to your arm?”  Danse tactfully asked.

Deacon’s face was completely blank.  “What are you talking about.  It’s always been like this.”

Behind Danse, Hancock was grinning.

“Oh.”  Danse wasn’t sure if this was true or not.  Or how to proceed with the conversation.  There was an awkward pause.  Danse and Deacon had never really been anything but enemies.  Sure, they hadn’t fought in a literal since, and Danse had known he was a synth for four months now, but in those months, Deacon and Danse hadn’t really had time or opportunity to figure out what, if anything, that would change between them.   

Finally, Danse found something to say.  “I am glad you won your fight with Sole.  The man was working hard at becoming some kind of monster.”

Deacon acknowledged the sort of thank you, or whatever it was.  “I’m glad you were still around.  The Institute really needs to go down, and we really need a piolet.”

Thinking about it now, Danse wasn’t even entirely sure if his feelings towards the Railroad had changed.  He hadn’t really managed to process all these changes for himself at anything but a desperately slow pace.  But that was one he wouldn’t have to figure out now.  The Railroad was past-tense.  Still, regardless of their status ethically or materially, what mattered at present was that the Institute needed to be destroyed.  Probably in ways it was the same for the Brotherhood at this point, at least as far as he was concerned.  Whatever else was different, one sole survivor to another, he and Deacon both carried a final responsibility. One goal from their respective former organizations, which was exactly the same.

Danse took a step forward and extended his hand.  “Well, you’ve got one.”

Even though shaking power armor isn’t easy, Deacon accepted.

 

* * *

 

 

 

MacCready found an ammo box and helped himself.  _How the hell did I get signed up to join the Mass Fusion on a vertibird detail again?  Oh, right.  Hancock._ MacCready looked over at the mayor, who was discussing something with Fahrenheit.  _And now he’s not even going._

When MacCready and the others had gotten back with Danse, they’d held a strategy meeting in the Old State House.  It had been decided that they would split up.  And somehow he’d ended up going on the worst branch of the split. 

MacCready leaned back against a wall and sighed.  He was in the basement room in the Memory Den.  A lot of supplies had been stashed there, so he and several of the others had come down to grab provisions, or things they had left behind earlier.  He’d seen Cait come down and wrap her fists.  Boy did he hope he wasn’t ever on the receiving end of one of those. Guns were superior to melee weapons in every way, but Cait was his close-range nightmare. 

She was still downstairs, although he couldn’t tell exactly what she was doing.  She was going on the vertibird too.  Of her own volition though.  Why she was so damn on board with all this, he’d never know.

Nick Valentine was talking to Piper and Ellie over in one corner of the room, and one of the Minutemen—one of the two ghouls—the brothers—was fixing his musket at a table.  MacCready couldn’t remember the kid’s name.

_Doesn’t really matter._

MacCready checked his own gun, fingers running over the familiar rifle, finding anything out of place, and fixing it automatically.  He looked up when he heard the Courser speak.  He couldn’t tell what it had said, but Piper was glaring at it.

“What did you just say?”

Cait was watching now too, MacCready noticed.

“You cared about Sole as well—you claimed to love him—and you do nothing to stop this?”  The Courser glared right back.

“Oh, save it, X.”  Piper snapped.  “You’re damn right I loved him, but I loved Sole back when he acted like a human being!  You only started to care after he gave up on that became a monster with a god complex.  I’m nothing like you.”

She turned and angrily disappeared up the stairs.  Ellie and Nick started to follow, but Nick paused and turned back to face the Courser. 

“You know, in a lot of ways she’s right.  But I saw your memories.  And even some of _your_ later memories of Sole were glazed over.  You didn’t follow him blindly until he became an Institute puppet, but you started to like him because he treated you like a human being.  And you tried not to notice when that stopped.”

X6-88’s expression was a mixture of surprise and anger, which shifted quickly to contempt and fury.  “Don’t pretend to know me.”  The words were cold.  He practically spat them.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Nick said, turning to go.  “Not even you really seem to.”

MacCready watched them disappear.  He glanced over at Cait.  She saw, and met his eyes.  She gave a sort of shrug, and a smirk, and went back to whatever it was she’d been doing. 

MacCready went back to cleaning his rifle.  What were they going to do with that Courser anyway?  Put it down?  MacCready tried just to focus on his rifle.

_Why the hell did I let Hancock talk me into this in the first place?_

 

................................

 

“Well, Hancock?” 

MacCready knew he had been stupid to follow Hancock upstairs.  They were in a dingy, creepy attic.  He was probably going to try to knife him.  No one would even notice his body among all the clutter.

Besides.  It wasn’t like there was anything Hancock could say that would change his mind. 

“I just want to make absolutely sure you know who you’re backing before it comes to bloodshed.  Feel me?”  Hancock put a hand on MacCready’s shoulder.  “See, I like you, and believe it or not, I’m not the only one in Goodneighbor who does.  You’re part of the community here. And me,” he removed his hand and gestured vaguely towards the outside “I’d hate to break Daisy’s heart, if I don’t have to.”

“Okay.”  MacCready folded his arms.  “I’m listening.  But don’t think trying to guilt me about ‘friendship,’ or Daisy, or whatever, is going to make me turn on my best friend.”

“Yeah,” Hancock’s face was suddenly unreadable.  And…dangerous.  “Best friend.”  This was a thing Hancock did, but MacCready had never seen it before.  It was a dark kind of scary, like a towering shadow, because it had always been there, and you’d just never noticed it behind the smile and companionableness. It was like watching someone remove a mask, or pull back a curtain, unsheathe a weapon maybe.  Only, once the mask went back on it left you unable to ever completely shake the memory of what was back there beneath, or the fear that you might see it again.

Hancock’s expression went back to a smile, voice returning to normal.  MacCready felt the heartrate he hadn’t noticed speed up slowing back to something like a manageable pace.  Hancock turned from MacCready and started to move through the room, still smiling absently, though his eyes were no longer in it.  “Sole, he was my best friend too, for awhile there.  Thought I’d finally found someone who got it—who had my back, and was ready to do the right thing, for the right reasons.  Actually,” he casually shoved some clutter off a windowsill and sat down “Sole and I traveled together a lot.  A whole lot.  One time, see, we find this town full of these creepy townsfolk—won’t ever stop smiling, but they all look like they’d knife you in the back.  Make you take a test to get in.”

“Covenant.”  MacCready had heard of the place.

“Yep!” Hancock went from smile to full grin, but it was still way too soon for MacCready to forget the person behind mask.  “Covenant. And we find out a caravan went missing there recently.  Do a little digging.  Find out the creepy little town’s got a creepy little base nearby, dug underneath a hill, and that they’re nabbing people from their town so they can run all kinds of fucked up tests on ‘em.  Torturing,” Hancock clarified “all sorts of lovely methods.  To find out if people are synths.  They don’t even have a good success rate.  Keep killing people.  And synths.  So,” Hancock swung his legs up and leaned more comfortably against the window frame, silhouetting himself against the cold blue sky of Goodneighbor outside. “This Doctor of theirs, running most of the torture-snatch-and-grabs, she asks Sole to walk away.  Offers him money.  You know what he tells her?”

MacCready hadn’t made himself more comfortable.  He was still just standing in the middle of the room with his arms crossed, listening.

“He says synth genocide ain’t on his moral compass, and she can take her money and shove it.  And we get in one hell of a fight.  A whole compound full of guards.  God, it was a good scrap.  And once we finished, we went back, and we set free the girl they’d grabbed from that caravan that went missing.  And me, I wasn’t sure about Sole up until that day.  I’d heard a lot of things, sure, but I usually go by what I see.  And I definitely wasn’t sure how he was going to handle this whole situation, but now I’m thinking ‘This is great!  Here I am, traveling with a guy who gets it.  Values life, all kinds.’  Hell, he joined the Railroad and became General of the Minutemen—not to mention throwing in with me.  I knew he’d been part of the Brotherhood for awhile—not too big on them—but after seeing that?  I knew he’d changed.  And I mean really changed.  Into someone I was proud to walk with.”  Slowly, Hancock swung his feet back down and gripped the windowsill with both hands.  “I guess, I just never thought to consider he might  change so much again.”

MacCready hadn’t heard this story.  Sole had, of course, told him plenty of stories about Hancock, and his work with the Railroad.  Along with a million other stories.  But that hadn’t been one of them.  But, exactly what point was Hancock trying to make?  Just that Sole had changed?  Was that really all he’d wanted to get across?

Hancock looked at MacCready and gave a sort of sad smile, then continued.  “So, I guess you can imagine my surprise when I start hearing he’s been working with the Institute.  Now, I knew at the time he’d gone undercover—more work for the Railroad—so it’s not that.  I start hearing…weirder things.  But vauge, you know?  And I know him. I respect him.  We’re friends.  So I’m sure it’s nothing that can’t be sorted out, but I think I ought to talk to him.  So one day when I’m out on the street I see him turn into the Third Rail, and the person he’s got with him?  It’s that Courser he’s been running with more and more,” Hancock’s voice became distasteful “X6-88.”  He leaned his head on the side of the window frame and crossed his arms, not looking at MacCready.  “I’ve seen him with that guy more times than I understand.  Like, I know he’s undercover, but.  It’s getting weird.  Anyway, I don’t think too much of it at the time, because it’s starting to be an annoyingly regular sight.  I follow him into the Third Rail, just wanting to pull him aside and make sure everything’s cool.  Almost, really, just to say ‘hi’.” 

Now MacCready knew where the story was going, this one he knew, only, he didn’t really know the details, and suddenly, he didn’t want to.

Hancock looked up at MacCready again.  “As I’m opening the door, I hear the music stop.  In the middle of a song.  And so I go down the stairs, and right as I make the turn, I see Sole and the Courser, up talking to Magnolia.  And Sole starts to say a weird string of words and numbers, and I can tell instantly that Magnolia is scared—she tries to jump at him, or run, I’m not even sure which, but the Courser catches her and Sole finishes and suddenly her eyes shut and she goes limp like someone just hit the off switch.”

“But, what…”  MacCready was confused.

“She was a synth—one the Railroad had set free.”  Hancock hopped off the sill and stood, leaning against the wall by the window.  “Recall code,” he said, gesturing vaguely.  “You say it, the synth’s mind is wiped.  No memory, no personality, no person left.  Factory reset, and it doesn’t even always keep the synth alive.”

“Did you know?”  MacCready asked.

Hancock shrugged.  “Does it matter?  Didn’t care.  She was a member of Goodneighbor, like the rest of us.”  Hancock looked MacCready in the eye.  MacCready wanted to look away, but for some reason he couldn’t.  “I call out to him, and he turns.  Everything feels like slow motion in my memory.  Sole sees me, and when he looks at me,” Hancock’s voice slowed down, as if he himself were trying to pick apart what the words he was saying meant. “Nothing in his face changes.  No anger, no disappointment, worry, sympathy, not even irritation.  He just sees me, and then looks away.  I’m running for them, but he says something to the Courser, and all three of them disappear in a shot of blue light just as I reach the stage.”

MacCready finally broke eye contact.

“You know,” Hancock relaxed a little and rested his head all the way back, staring at the ceiling “at first I thought he might come back.  Try to explain things, or convince me, but he never even did that.  That was over a month ago.  I haven’t seen him since.” He laughed.  “I guess that’s the last time I ever saw him, huh.”  Hancock broke his train of thought away from memories and turned it back to the present.  He looked back at MacCready, and shoved off the wall.  "So, MacCready.  Now you know why I’m fighting him.  I consider everyone in Goodneighbor to be under my protection.  And that includes you.  But if you’re here to kill Deacon, he’s under my protection too, and I’ll shoot you.  And kill you, if I have to.  I’m not about to let you off a friend who don’t have it coming.  The man’s done nothing but fight in self-defense, and for good old-fashioned vengeance.”

Hancock was getting awfully close to MacCready, who involuntarily took a couple steps back. Hancock closed the distance, until coming to a stop dangerously close to the other man.

“I know you and Sole were close, like he and I were, he and Piper, Cait, hell, let’s be honest, like he and Deacon were.  You know what he did to me, to Deacon, to most of us.  Now, I don’t know why Cait’s fighting him, but we can both be sure she’s not doing thing because he reclaimed a synth, or killed the Railroad.  But whatever that thing he did to her was, it undid all the good he did for her, plus what looks like a big handful.  And I’m pretty sure he did a lot of good.” 

He paused and put his hand on MacCready’s shoulder again.  “Look, Sole might not have backstabbed you MacCready, but maybe he just hadn’t backstabbed you yet.”

MacCready didn’t say anything.  He honestly wasn’t sure how he felt—how _to_ feel.  He swallowed. “Why are you telling me all this, Hancock?”

“I don’t want to see you get killed.”  Hancock shrugged.  “That’s all.”  He let go of MacCready’s shoulder and moved on a few steps past him.

MacCready turned after him.  “Why?”  He really didn’t know.

“I like you,” Hancock responded, stopping and turning.  “And I think Daisy’s right.  In spite of having thrown in with the Gunners, you’re a good guy.”  He caught MacCready’s eye for a second.  “Maybe better even than you think.”

MacCready looked away.

“Now, I’m not asking you to fight the Institute at my side.  I don’t know that that kind of radical save-the-world stuff is really your style.  But I’m gonna give you some options.”  He stopped moving and faced MacCready.  “I don’t want to have to kill you.  All I’m asking, is that you don’t try to go after Deacon.  Now, you got a couple of choices.  One, you can pretend to agree, then come back and try to kill Deacon later.  In which case, I will kill you.”

MacCready watched Hancock, muscles taught, ready for action.  It didn’t even sound un-friendly.  Just a very welcome, matter-of-fact sort of attitude.  But he was remembering the look on Hancock’s face earlier, and suddenly very aware how much of a disadvantage he had sniper-rifle to shotgun and hunting knife from five feet away.

“Two,” Hancock continued, “you can go after Deacon, but have the guts to say it to my face, and you and me, we’ll fight—right here, right now.  Fair, clean, one-on-one.  Three, you keep living for Sole’s memory or whatever, but you leave and go your separate way.  If Deacon lives through this crazy plan we’ve got, then you fight him someday, but you have the decency to wait until he’s recovered, and it’s a fair fight.  Four, you take your gun, and you walk out of Goodneighbor.  You get out before the Institute comes here and the fighting starts.  You and Deacon part ways forever, and both get to keep living.  Well, get to keep not not-living because of each other.  And five.  If you were to decide to do the right thing by Deacon and not shoot him while he’s down, and you decide you want to get back at the Institute for all their bullshit, well—then I’d welcome your gun at my back.” 

MacCready started to speak and Hancock held up a hand.

“Now I ain’t expecting you to pick option five.  I know it’s heroics, and grandstanding, and maybe death.  Little flashy for you,” Hancock continued.  “And I know how you felt about Sole.  But.  I also know you give some kind of a damn about the families trying to eek out a living in this mess of a world, and if it stays, the Institute is going to keep leaving folks to die while it can’t be bothered to lift a finger, and mowing people down whenever it sees fit.  I know this is bigger and broader and more large-scale death-y than the kind of fight any one man generally has to make decisions about, and it doesn’t have to be your fight, and y’know that, but if you want, it can be.”

“What, and you’d just accept me—like that?  Not expect me to shoot you all in the back and get the revenge I came here for?” MacCready was tense, confrontational.  His fingers twitched, wanting to move to a ready position, to have hold of the trigger.

Hancock took in his stance and smiled. He casually folded his hands behind his head.  “Nah. I’m not saying I expect you to make what I think is the right choice, but I think you got some kind of honor.”  His face grew more serious and he let his arms rest at his side again. A flicker of the man behind the mask at the ready.  “So.  What’s it going to be?”

MacCready didn’t know.  He stood in silence, thinking. 

“Not to rush you, but I am about to be seriously late for an appointment to sift through a Courser’s memory for sensitive information,” Hancock prodded.  His voice in his attempt at humor almost sounded sad to MacCready for some reason. 

Then the words registered.  MacCready looked up at Hancock.  “His memories?”

“Yeah.” Hancock was suddenly aware he probably shouldn’t have said that out loud.

“I want to come.”  MacCready said, taking a step towards Hancock.

“Come…See his memories?”  Hancock asked, ignoring his impulse to respond by taking a step back.

MacCready nodded.  “I don’t know what to believe right now, but if Sole’s as bad as you all seem to think, then his Institute pal is bound to have memories of it—right?  I want to see for myself.”

“Alright…” Hancock sounded a bit uncertain.  “But Deacon is going to be there.”

“I won’t shoot him,” MacCready said, sounding maybe sincere.

“Yeah,” Hancock narrowed his eyes. “Just the same, you want in, you’re leaving your gun with me.  Temporarily.”

MacCready’s fingers automatically tightened around the rifle.

“Well,” Hancock held out a hand, “do we have a deal?”

MacCready looked at the gun, and thought long and hard.  Slowly, he looked up at Hancock.  _Shit._ He reluctantly held the weapon out and passed it to Hancock.  “You’re not going to make me regret this, right?”

Hancock grinned “God, I hope not.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group goes over their game plan and decides where and with whom to cast their lots. Nick asks Cait for a favor.

Chapter 12

 

“Alright.”  About an hour before MacCready watched X6-88 pick a fight, Preston Garvey had addressed the group, his hands resting on a chair back with all the gravity and presence of a man whose hands were instead placed on a table sprawled with the maps and troop movements of a war council.  “So, plan of attack.  Nick needs to get to Mass Fusion as soon as possible, and to do that, we need to get to the vertibird at Cambridge.  From there, Danse will pilot the craft—high if cloud cover is enough to disguise the approach—or extremely low, hiding among the buildings surrounding the tower if not.” 

The rest of the group which had assembled in Goodneighbor watched from around the room in various locations.  Nick sat near a table in the middle of the room, Ellie close by.  Doctor Amari waited on another side of the same table, studying something in her hand.  Piper sat on a backwards chair on the right side of the room, chin resting on arms slung over the seatback. Codsworth floated beside Piper, and Curie had settled cross-legged onto the floor a few feet behind them. To Preston’s left, Cait had scored an entire couch to herself, much to MacCready (who had ended up on a crate)’s envy.  Danse stood a few feet to Preston’s left, arms folded and stern as ever, while Hancock rested against the wall behind Preston’s right, watching, with Fahrenheit in the shadows to his side where she always seemed to be.

Deacon had taken up a stance across the room on the far left, further from the action than anyone aside from Curie.  He was listening, but anyone who didn’t know him would have thought he was lost in thought studying an old poster on the wall.

“As soon as you’re close,” Preston continued, looking at Danse now, “you go straight to the rooftop.  Open fire, buy as much time as you can, but try to keep the bird intact.  Get close enough for Nick to get down.  He takes out and switches places with one of the ground units.”

Amari stepped up.  “I’ve put together this device,” it was a small grey thing, a little rounded.  “It should be able to pick up small amounts of information for you by scanning the electronic brain of a subject it’s held next to, such as a unit’s numeric designation.  It’s a rather crude design, considering I had to quite literally throw it together in a few hours, but you should be able to use it to help you successfully blend in. It attaches here.”  Amari tilted up her chin and tapped a spot on her neck.

Nick nodded and took the device from Amari.  She’d already installed the chip that allowed him to change his voice to the standard Gen 1 and 2 voice at will. 

He looked different.  It was subtle, but evident nonetheless.  He was wearing his face—Cait had asked about this, and Amari told them that it might be a stupid idea for them to fly up in a vertibird _with_ what appeared to be a totally regular Gen 1 synth.  It could arouse suspicion, if a Courser with the synth troops spotted him.  However, the face wasn’t exactly “attached” now—it was just held loosely in place.  His frame had changed too.  He’d had to remove a lot of the Gen2 plates. He was wearing his coat, all buttoned up for once, but it hung differently. 

Piper had been trying not to look at him, because it made her feel sad, and angry, and powerless all at the same time.  She wasn’t even sure why.  But she hated it.

“Once he’s in, you all get out of there as fast as you can.  Stay safe.”  Preston finished, and handed the floor to Amari again.

She held up a second object for the group to see.  “One major problem was getting inside the institute. Even if Mr. Valentine can make it to the molecular relay and find a way to operate it, he’ll need our coordinates to bring any of us in with him.  We know the Institute broadcasts their signal through the classic radio station, so we’ll communicate that way—if possible.  Binary through the radio, when possible or necessary.  That way we at least have a chance of communicating once he’s inside.  This holotape is the other idea I had.”  Amari set down the tape and picked up a small silver object from the table.  “We currently possess two Courser chips.  One of them was broken by Mr. Garvey when he fought that Courser, but I’ve been able to repair it—I believe.”

“How did you get it without killing him?” Piper asked.  “Oh, wait—di—did you…?” She looked from Amari to the rest of the group.  “I’m not, uh.  I don’t totally know how—they keep those things in their brains, right?”

“Yes. I _have_ actually performed brain surgeries on synths before.” Amari eyed Curie.  “And unless there’s something I don’t know, he’s still alive.  They operate to put the chips in, too. It wasn’t actually that difficult. Considering the ridiculously complex things I’ve been asked to do by some of you at one time or another,” she shot Nick an accusing glance, then turned from him to Deacon. “The other chip is in Sole’s Pipboy, and should still be perfectly intact.  The Pipboy, which, I believe, is currently in Deacon’s possession?”

It had been.  Andrews had taken it off awhile back, when he’d re-wrapped the wrist that had been broken right after they arrived in Goodneighbor.

“More or less,” Deacon agreed.

“Now,” Amari continued, “neither of these chips is functional right now—or I should say neither is active.  They’ve been disconnected—obviously an Institute safety countermeasure—but there is a good chance they can be reactivated from the Institute’s relay computer.  Or, at least that their coordinates can be tracked, and from what we’ve gathered, a long-distance transportation jump just needs exact coordinates.  If you have any difficulty, this holotape should be able to feed you coordinates for them.  I’ve designed it to look for their identification codes, even if it has to dig into old system memory.”

“We’ll keep the two chips with us, so that if you need to call in some help, you’ll have the location of at least two of us hopefully locked down even if we can’t communicate anyone else’s location through the radio,” Preston said, straightening up to address Nick.  The synth nodded thoughtfully. 

“I’m sorry, but you’re going to be careful how you distribute those chips, right?”  Danse was standing by a wall off to the left, arms folded, and still in full power armor.  He looked at Deacon skeptically.  “No offense meant to your resolve, but considering your physical condition, it might be best to leave the Pipboy with someone else.”

“I did kill for it.”  Deacon said it casually, but he met Danse’s eyes and held them, daring him to argue.

Nick broke the tense silence that followed by clearing his throat and reaching across the table to take the tape from Amari.  “Alright, I’m all set.”  He glanced around the room.  “What about the rest of you?”

“I need to go to the Castle.”  Preston sighed.  “I wish I could help at Mass Fusion, but I’ve already waited too long to take care of the Minutemen’s problems at home.”

“If we plan to defend the Commonwealth from an Institute attack, we’ll need all the firepower we can get,” Hancock agreed.  “MacCready, Danse, and I can take Mass Fusion.”

“We can?” MacCready asked.

“Wait a god damn second,” Cait cut in, folding her arms.  “You aren’t leavin’ me.  I’m comin’ too.  I like flying in vertibirds, and I’m itching for another fight.”

Hancock grinned.  “Hey, more the merrier.”

“Deacon?”  Nick looked over him.  He’d been quiet since speaking to Danse, thoughtfully moving the fingers to his new hand in sequence.  “Where will you go?”

Deacon looked up.  “The Castle.  I’m going to the Castle with Preston.”

“Deacon—are you sure?” Surprise hit Preston first, then concern.  He tightened his grip on the chair back.  “I mean, I can’t promise no one will try to kill you over there—obviously I’d try to stop that, but—” 

“Yeah, well, no different from here then,” Deacon shrugged.  MacCready awkwardly flipped up his collar so he could hunch inside it.

“Look,” Deacon continued, “if you’re going to convince them you helped me out for a good reason, it’ll make you more credible if I come with you and answer questions, instead of hiding from them somewhere 100 miles away.”

“Yeah, but…”  Preston was still unsure.  “Deacon—”

“—I owe you.”  Deacon was firm.  He looked up at Preston, steady and focused, unwavering.   Preston didn’t want to look at the other man, but Deacon caught his gaze and held it for a few seconds in silence.  Eyes still on Preston, Deacon continued. “And I want to see you finish this thing.”

“Alright,” Preston finally broke eye contact. “You, me, Brighton, Evea, Warren, and Malloy.”  He was still concerned about bringing Deacon, but he was also a little relieved—at least this way he’d be able to keep an eye out for him personally.  And he was glad, that Deacon had _wanted_ to go.  “If you’re really sure, then I’d be glad of the company.”

Preston looked back up.  Deacon nodded.

“Well, I’m going to go back to Diamond City.”  There had been a lull for a few seconds, so Piper spoke up.  Attention suddenly all on her, Piper took a deep breath and continued.  “What Ellie told me only makes me more sure.  Something’s up with Diamond City.  The Institute might be planning to attack.  Besides,” she moved over to the map they’d been using, “Diamond City is one of the only ‘strongholds’ left in the Commonwealth.  It’s easily defensible, has good security and an arsenal of weapons—plus, it has its own farming land and a fresh water supply, all inside the town—so it’s self-sustaining if they have to hole up for awhile.  If settlers from surrounding homesteads need somewhere to flee, it’s the perfect spot.  And if we’re going into out and out war with the Institute, getting Diamond City to help in the fight could be invaluable.  Plus, the Institute knows that—if it comes to it, Diamond City is basically the last bastion for the Commonwealth—our last stronghold in a waiting game.”

Hancock moved over to the map as well and studied it thoughtfully.  “As much of a prick as those Diamond City assholes mostly are, she has a point about its strategic placement.  But, what’s the plan,” he looked over at Piper, “you going storm the gates by yourself and get the mayor to join us?  No offence sister, but doesn’t he hate you?”

“Well, who else is gonna go?”  Piper crossed her arms.  “Besides, my little sis is there.  And if the town is just boiling over into mob territory…Look, Nat’s got as big a mouth as I have, and she’s even less good at knowing when not to open it.”  Hancock’s expression conceded that that would be a truly dangerous amount of smarting off.  “I have to make sure she’s safe.”  There would be no moving Piper on this point.

“I’ll go too.”  Ellie was standing in the back by Nick.  “I’m sure Danny’s a little peeved I ran away this morning, but hey—It’s my home too.”

“I’m not sure this is a good plan.”  Nick looked from one to the other. “It’s not a very safe decision you two are making, or well thought out.” 

Hancock could see the worry on his face.  Nick wouldn’t be able to help keep any of his friends safe up on the surface, where he was going.  Even though he’d be in far more danger alone in the Institute—assuming he even made it in, the tin can was still more worried about those two than himself.

Ellie smiled.  “Look who’s talking.”

“Ah, damn, I’ll go too.”  Everyone looked at Hancock. 

“W-what?  I’m sorry, are you out of your mind?”  Piper shook her head.  “I mean, you must be, because—I mean I’m pretty sure you do realize ghouls aren’t even allowed in Diamond City, right?  They’d throw you out on a good day.  Hancock, it’s not a good day”

“And you’ve been locked out of Diamond City how many times, Piper?”  Hancock folded his arms and matched her stance.  “Fifteen?  Twenty?  Point is, I’m the Mayor of Goodneighbor.  If we’re convincing Diamond City to ally with Goodneighbor, better to have a representative.  Much as I hate the idea.”

“Hancock, Piper has a point.  I mean, I don’t think there’s a snowball’s chance in hell McDonough will listen to any of us, but.”  Ellie looked from Hancock to Nick, hoping he’d back her up.

Nick studied Hancock’s expression.  “You sure you want to go there, Hancock?”

 “Look, Nick,” Hancock gestured at Piper and Ellie “I know those two are capable, but the more of us as go, the safer we’ll be.  Besides, they might open the gate to talk with the Mayor.  And at the very least they know if they pick a fight with me, it means war with all of Goodneighbor.  As much as they probably hate me personally, that ain’t an empty threat.  And when people are acting crazy, one of the only things that still tends to work is fear.  Now, that probably won’t scare them too much right now, but it might be enough to cool McDunough down a hair.  Enough to get us a chance to talk at least.  And…Well, he might talk to _me_.  Never know.”  Hancock didn’t like the thought he’d ended that on, especially in front of someone as good at reading people as Nick, so he hurriedly added “Besides, when’s an extra gun at your back ever a bad thing?”

“And Goodneighbor?”  Nick was still watching him carefully.

Hancock met his eyes like he was matching a bet.  “I don’t plan to stay in Diamond City for long.  And while I’m gone, Fahrenheit can look after things.” 

Fahrenheit nodded.

“I’m at least going to see those two get inside safely.  Alright?  It’s the least I can do.”  Hancock waited, ready to argue down more objections.  He hadn’t liked the idea of sending Nick to the Institute alone, even if it was the best shot they had at this point.  But there wasn’t much he could do about that.

Nick finally looked away and let out a breath.  “I don’t think I’m going to be able to talk you out of it, am I?”

He wasn’t.

“Well, if you go, the three of you better not get killed.”  Nick looked at all three in turn. “Hancock?”

“Sure, wasn’t planning on it.”  Hancock turned to Fahrenheit.  “You cool with heading to Mass Fusion just for the drop?”

“I’ll find someone to take over here temporarily,” she replied, and disappeared from the room.

Piper sighed.  “Okay, fine, but it’s not going to do either of us much good.  I guess it’s at least a third gun on the way there.  Just promise not to shoot whoever throws you out?”  Truth be told, she was a little relieved he and Ellie had volunteered to go.  She’d been determined, but going alone hadn’t been something she was looking forward to.

Hancock had grinned, but he hadn’t promised. 

 

* * *

 

Later, Nick and caught him as he was heading out the door and thanked him.

“Hancock.  You know this is a pretty big risk you’re taking, going to Diamond City in the middle of all this.  But, I appreciate you being there for Piper and Ellie.”

“No big deal,” Hancock replied.  “I’m probably long overdue another talk with my fellow mayor.  Besides, felt like they needed a chaperone.  I’m not sure either of them is ready to pull the trigger on one of their neighbors.”

“Yeah,” Nick looked almost like he might laugh “too bad they got you instead of a chaperone, though.”  Hancock started to say something, but Nick cut him off.  “—Hancock, you’re not responsible.”

Hancock shrugged.  _Well, when you’re right, you’re right._

“Anyway, thanks all the same.”  Nick had started to go.  Hancock had almost let him, but when he reached the door frame, Hancock called after him.

“Nick.”

The detective turned around and raised his eyebrows, hand still on the door frame, waiting for whatever Hancock had stopped him to say.

“Look…”  Hancock took a step closer, stopped, and looked away. 

Nick turned the rest of the way around and cocked his head.  “Yeah?”

“When you’re in the Institute,” Hancock looked back up and met Nick’s eyes “could you do me a favor?  Look—I know there ain’t really a way to get her back, from what I know about how synths work, and their resets, but.  Sole took one of our own, so.  If you see Magnolia, if there’s anything left of her, could you try and see that she makes it out?”

Nick nodded solemnly.  “Of course, Hancock.  If she’s there, I’ll find her.  You just see that you three make it out of Diamond City in one piece.”

Hancock smiled and looked away.  “Thanks, Nick.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Cait.”

She looked up and saw Nick Valentine walking over.  “Yeah, what is it?”

Cait was downstairs in the Memory Den.  She was the last one.  MacCready had finished cleaning his rifle and disappeared a little while ago.  Cait liked melee weapons, but they were going to be flying, so she’d gone looking for a gun.  It had taken her awhile to find one she wanted to take.

Nick stopped about a foot away.  “Can I ask you for a favor?” 

Cait stood up, still holding the gun she’d decided on.  It was a handheld assault rifle.  She liked the idea of using an automatic gun from the sky. 

“What do you need?”  Cait was a little wary of being asked for favors, even from Valentine.

“It’s about him,” Nick motioned with his head towards the Courser that still sat chained up in the far corner of the room.

“Yeah?”  She waited for the rest of it while her hands checked the gun’s clip.

“Look, in all likelihood Goodneighbor is going to turn into one big bloody battleground as soon as the Institute attacks.  Now, I have faith you all can hold them off while we get the rest of our plan together, but when people’s friends start dying, they want revenge.  And when a whole group of angry people wants vengeance, it gets bloody real fast.”

“Your point bein’?”  Cait asked.

“I think it’s not unlikely someone might want to take things out on him.”  Nick saw her expression and sighed.  “Look—I’m not saying he doesn’t deserve to be put down—for what he’s done?  He does.  But he deserves a trial, or at the very least to be killed cleanly.  We saw a lot in his memories, and I got more from Sole.  Coursers—they’re trained extensively and brutally, practically wiped of emotion, as much as one of us can be.  Slaves wholly formed into killing machines by their masters.  Now, I’m not trying to say that excuses him.  No matter how you’re brought up, what you’ve been through, you’ve always got a choice—and he’s had plenty of time on the surface to see how things are up here, been around lots of different types of people, had time to figure things out on his own, but.  I’m not sure that who he is merits being stoned, or beaten to death, or burned at the stake or something.  All I’m asking is, if things get bad, real bad, I’d like you to put a bullet in him and get it done quickly.”

“Why’re you askin’ me?  And for that matter, why do you care?”  Cait rested the readied gun in one arm and put the other hand on her hip.

“I’m asking because the only people I know will be here are you, Curie, Danse, and MacCready.  I can’t ask Curie, and I trust you more than those two.  Besides which, I think you’re the only one who might agree to do it.”  He studied her face.  “Cait, you know what being a slave can do to someone’s head.” He saw her expression change and held up a hand “–I know you’re absolutely nothing like he is, I do Cait.  You’re right.  But you’ve seen firsthand what slavery’s done to other people.  You got a sense of justice, and you’re not a bad person.  I think deep down you want to see what’s right get done.  So maybe you can see your way to agreeing that, past things all considered, a clean bullet is the right way to go about it with him.”

Cait’s expression was still hard.  “I’m not just different—the whole thing’s nothing like the same!  I don’t go around murdering people.  And I’m not some whipped dog, followin’ a master’s orders.  I _never_ was.”

“I know, Cate.” Nick said slowly.  “I’m sorry.  And like I said, I know you’re nothing alike.  But you’ve still got some human empathy.  You’ve always been willful, and you’re not a bad person.  You’re very different types of people.  I just thought you might be able to sympathize with him a little.  Enough to give him a clean death.  Surely you saw people who ended up more like him than you did.”

“I’ve seen plenty, but it’s not slavery if he’s not a person.”  Cait stopped.  Nick’s expression had gotten a little…withdrawn.  No, worse, sad.  “Look, no offense, Nicky,” she added quickly, feeling a twinge of guilt.  “I didn’t mean it like…you know—you.  But all the same, synth aren’t people.”

“No, Cait.  Synths aren’t _human_.”  Nick let out a breath and met her eyes.  Something that looked like him should have been off-putting, but he always looked downright welcoming.  That was something even the least threatening of humans could rarely convince her of.  He gave her a sad smile.  “You know, taking away personhood is always that necessary first step to treating people like property.  But that’s not what I’m asking you.  I don’t think you’d torture a _dog_ that bit you to death.  Your personal views on my kind aside, can you just promise me this one thing?”

Cait felt uncomfortable, despite how she thought of synths.  Why was Nick always so damn good at acting like a person—and not just that, but a good one.  Decent people were rare enough, good ones barely existed.  “Yeah, fine.”  Cait glanced at the quiet figure chained to the desk.  “I suppose, if you really care that much.”

“A promise, then?”  Nick held out his hand. 

Cait hesitated, then took the hand.  “Alright, you just promise to save me a few Institute bastards, and we’ll call it even.”

Nick smiled.  “Thanks, Cait.”

He started to go.  Cait watched him for a second.  “Hey, why does it matter to you anyway?”

“Huh?”  Nick turned around in the doorway.  He glanced from her to X6-88 and back again.  “Well, I usually try to figure out what the right thing to do is, and do it.  I’d like to die with as few regrets as possible.”

“And that,” Cait jerked her head towards X6-88 “that’s the right thing?”

Nick nodded.  Cait looked at him, then the Courser. 

“Why?”  An honest question.

“There’s no one who gives a damn what happens to him, and if it’s fair or not.  If it’s right.  And too much of life’s that way, for most everybody.  It’s best to make it not that way when you get the chance.  Even in little ways.  Even for people you don’t think deserve it.”  He watched X6-88 as he spoke.  He hadn’t thought the Courser could hear them, but he saw him twitch, and he wondered.  Nick looked back at Cait.  “Everybody matters, Cait.  Much as most of us hate to admit it.  Even the bad ones.  And things are rotten enough out there without us passing on the choice to make it a little better when we can.”  

Nick watched her frown and look away, thinking about something. 

“Everything adds up, good and bad.  Even little things.”  He hesitated for a second, watching her, then smiled and disappeared up the stairs.

After he was gone Cait looked up at the empty stairs where he’d been.  Slowly, she stood up herself.  She looked over at the Courser.  His eyes were open now, but he was looking away from her.

He must have felt her gaze on him, because after a second he turned his head and looked.  For a moment they met eyes in silence.

Slowly, Cait turned her gun on him.  He watched the barrel rotate until it was level with his head, then looked back up at her face.  She didn’t think he was afraid.  It was hard to tell if he was feeling anything.  Cait hesitated, watching him.  His cold blue eyes met her gaze and stayed.

“Shite…” Cait finally muttered, slowly lowering the gun.  She turned and walked up the same steps Nick had disappeared up and vanished herself.

X6-88 watched her go.  Once she was gone he closed his eyes and let his head fall forward and rest.  He tried to think about the pain in his broken arms.  After a few seconds he opened his eyes and stared at the ground.

“Shit."


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fahrenheit and Nick's group heads to Cambridge and encounters a little trouble; Preston's group reaches The Castle and faces their own obstacles; Deacon realizes there's only one thing keeping him alive.

Chapter 13

“Let’s move.”  Fahrenheit combed her short-cropped hair out of her eyes as she surveyed the skyline. 

“We are moving.”  MacCready scowled, checking the townscape ahead through the scope of his rifle.

“We’re getting close to Cambridge, and the sooner this is done, the sooner we get back to Goodneighbor,” Fahrenheit replied.  “So let’s pick up the pace.”

“Expedience and caution are of equal import,” Danse interjected, turning to MacCready.  “Do you see anyone?”

“We sent out a runner earlier.  No one should be around, at least _between_ us and Cambridge.”  Fahrenheit impatiently ran her fingers through her hair again and took a breath.  They would be fine without her or Hancock for a few hours.  This would be fine.

“She’s right. It’s dead quiet, and I don’t see anyone.  Which…Is weird.”  MacCready lowered his rifle, and glanced at the faces around him.  “Usually there’d be something.  A raider scout, wild dogs, a ghoul—I mean, you can’t usually take ten steps into the commonwealth without getting jumped by _something_.  Right?”

“Maybe it’s just paranoia,” Curie piped up hopefully. 

Nick had been silent, still focused on the town ahead, but he finally turned his gaze away from the Cambridge and turned back to the group.  “Well, I’m not picking up any signs of life either, but it’s always good to be careful.  Being said, we’re pressed for time.  How do you want to do this?”

“Fast and quiet. Best of both,” Fahrenheit answered immediately.

“Just how quiet is he gonna be?” Cait asked, gesturing to Danse.  “In a clunky suit of power armor.  If there’s anyone down there, it’s a miracle if they haven’t heard him already.”

“She’s got a point,” agreed Fahrenheit.  “Cait and I’ll take point.  Nick, stick close with us.  Danse can take up rear guard with Curie.  Come in with the big guns if things go south, but keep far enough back not to give us away.  MacCready, find somewhere to offer fire support from if anything happens, but hang back and snipe to do so if you aren’t comfortable going in with us.  Otherwise you’ll just slow us down”

“Yeah, sure.” MacCready folded his arms.  “So long as I’m not taking point, you all do whatever you want.”

“Cait?” Fahrenheit turned to her.

“Fine by me.”

“Alright.” Nick readied his pistol. “Let’s go.”

Fahrenheit and Cait moved fast, running from cover to cover, hugging shadows.  This wasn’t how Cait was used to operating, but she knew how to do it.  She’d had to, once.

They reached opposite sides of the barricade outside Cambridge Police Station at almost the same moment, sliding into cover behind the low walls.  Nick landed close to Fahrenheit and looked carefully over a chunk of the board he was hidden behind.  Fahrenheit met his eyes and he shook his head.  She nodded and slowly looked around the corner.  He was right.  Nothing.  No living creature in sight. 

But lots of bodies.  

Fahrenheit would have just stepped out except for that.  There were about a dozen dead raiders, clearly killed on separate days.  Mostly by energy weapons, it looked like.  At least the ones near her.  Fahrenheit held up her hand cautiously.  The others stopped.  Cait gave her a quizzical look.  Fahrenheit nodded at the bodies, then slowly slipped around the barricade, hugging cover, creeping steadily towards the doorway.  She heard Nick land behind her again, following her path of cover.  Fahrenheit made a second quick dash towards the base of the steps, and was only a half-step out when a bottle shot past her head.  Cocktail.

Without stopping to look Fahrenheit grabbed Nick by the coat and launched herself forward, careening them both into the base of the porch.  Behind them, her previous hiding spot went up in flames.

“Shit!”  Fahrenheit hissed the word.  Her Ashmaker was instantly against her hip and she shoved off the concrete wall which served as the porch’s base long enough to send a barrage of bullets through the window the bottle had come from.  The window frame burst into flame as the bullets exploded on impact, and Fahrenheit saw something move.  Whoever was shooting had made it through the barrage and to a new patch of cover inside.  Out of her periphery Fahrenheit saw something flicker up the windowsill to her left.  She didn’t have time to shift the Ashmaker, but this was why she kept a pistol.  Almost without turning her head, Fahrenheit drew and fired at the shape.  As she almost fell back behind cover she heard a cry and smiled.  A blast from an energy gun scorched the wall where she’d been. 

Fahrenheit saw Nick had somehow made it to the front door when she wasn’t looking.  He was against it, out of view from the windows, and listening intently to the closed door.  She saw him push against it gingerly, then harder.  He shook his head at her.   Barricaded.  That was fine.  They had two broken windows.  Nick moved to the one on the right, which was still smoldering from the Ashmaker and disappeared over the edge.  Fahrenheit moved out again and let the Ashmaker riddle the room behind the left window with bullets and flames.  She felt Cait move up beside her.  The redhead let off a few shots before vaulting up to the porch and skidding to cover by the door where Nick had been moments ago.  She slowly crept towards the left window, her back against the wall.  Fahrenheit stopped firing, but kept her eyes on both windows, tense and ready.

Somewhere behind her, she heard the massive thud of Danse coming.

There, in the left window again—whoever it was was quick.  Fahrenheit shot and she managed to wing it with the Ashmaker.  It wasn’t a good hit as far as marksmanship went, but bullet exploded and the figure caught on fire.  She heard a scream and the figure dropped.  Total silence.  Fahrenheit relaxed for a second.  Then the figure was back and Fahrenheit saw an energy gun leveled at her and she knew she wasn’t going to be able to completely make it out of the way of the blast.  It was impossible, they weren’t even smoking—but they were back up.  Four things happened all at once.  She moved, readying her shoulder to take the brunt of the blast, knees loose to roll with the impact, but then suddenly the crack of a rifle echoed off a building somewhere behind her—MacCready—and in the same instant Danse shouted something she couldn’t hear through the rifle’s echo, and Nick was between the window and the figure, and Fahrenheit watched the energy beam from the figure’s gun go wide as Nick slammed into the figure and MacCready’s bullet caught him in the back.

Then he was gone.  Fahrenheit was fine.  She could hear Danse getting closer.  And Nick—

There were voices now—the voice belonging to their opponent mixed with Nick’s as both shouted—neither intelligible over the other—and Fahrenheit could hear a struggle.   Cait vaulted over the windowsill and disappeared inside.  Fahrenheit started to follow suit, but she had to roll to the side to get out of Danse’s way as he ran towards the doorway.

“Danse!” She hissed as he barreled past.

He turned, his face twisted with some emotion Fahrenheit couldn’t quite put her finger on.  “Did you kill her?”

 _Terror maybe_ , Fahrenheit thought when she heard his voice.  _Or pain._ “The shooter?”

The sounds from the house had mostly stopped.  The only voices Fahrenheit heard now were Nick and Cait.  She made out a clear “The hell not!” from Cait and something that ended with something very much like “Just look” from Nick.

Danse hadn’t answered or waited for a further response from Fahrenheit.  He was up the stairs and trying to shove his way past whatever was barricading the front door.  Fahrenheit shot up the steps behind him and went for the window instead, dropping the Ashmaker to fit, and vaulting in like Cait had, and landing in the middle of a scene that, for the first time today, she didn’t know how to handle at all.

There was a small person on the ground beneath Nick Valentine, wearing bloody brotherhood fatigues.  For a second Fahrenheit thought the figure was dead, but then they started to struggle again, shouting something.  The only word Fahrenheit could intelligibly make out consistently was “synth” over Cait’s “For god’s sakes Nicky, she’s _still_ tryin’ to shoot you!”  Nick was having a hard time keeping the girl down and stopping Cait from taking a shot at her at the same time.

“I said don’t!”  He shouted.  The remark was directed at Cait, but he turned his head towards Fahrenheit as he finished.  The girl beneath him managed to slam her head into Valentine’s chin—an act which she definitely got the worse end of, considering that face was made of metal.  Nick grimaced but didn’t retaliate. 

Cait stood above them, still confused and irritated, but a little amused by the headbutt.  “You sure I can’t just kick her quiet a little?  If anythin’ else is nearby, they’re gon’ to hear us.”

“They already will have,” Nick replied, then to the girl “Would you stop that?  I’m not going to hurt you.”

She did not stop.

“What’s this about?”  Fahrenheit asked Nick.  She could still hear Danse slamming against the front door.  If she were him, she would have just ditched the power armor and dove through the window.  But the man usually didn’t do what Fahrenheit thought practical.  She glanced down at the girl’s hood.  “A scribe?”

“Yeah.  One of Danse’s old brotherhood palls.”  Cait sunk onto a nearby chair arm.  “Least according to Nicky.”

Fahrenheit lowered her gun and exhaled.  “I thought Sole finished the brotherhood off.”

“There are stragglers all over the Commonwealth,” Nick replied.  “Looks like she’s the last one at this outpost, though.”  The girl was still struggling, but she wasn’t panicking anymore, and she was listening.  Nick turned to her again.  “Alright, you finally calmed down?  I’m not sure if you remember me, but I was with Sole several times when he helped you.”

“Sole murdered everyone.”  Her voice was shaking with anger, or maybe strain.  She almost spat the words out with the ferocity of her intent.

“I know.”  There was regret in his voice.  Nick let out a breath and looked down.  “We’re not with him.  Not anymore.”  She didn’t look convinced, so he added “Danse is with us.”

Her eyes widened.  “He’s not.  Dead?  No—I don’t—I can’t—”

Suddenly a full suit of power armor was in the doorway.  “Get away from her!”

His voice boomed off the walls and Cait instinctively flinched at the painfully loud sound.

“Calm down!”  Fahrenheit stepped between them.  Behind her, she heard the girl say Danse’s name in disbelief.  Fahrenheit stayed focused on the tense wall of metal in front of her with his gun drawn.  “She’s fine.  He took a bullet for your scribe, so drop the attitude.”

“Shit, sorry about that Nick.”  No one had heard MacCready approach, but he was leaning in through the window now, watching the scene.

“It’s fine.”  Nick rotated his shoulder.  “Had plenty worse.  It was a damn good shot, MacCready.  I didn’t think I was going to be able to get her out of the way in time.”

“Well, I generally aim to please.”  MacCready replied.  He took a last glance around outside, then vaulted over the windowsill and joined the others inside the building.  “Which usually doesn’t include hitting one of my group in the back…”

“It was a good shot.”  Fahrenheit interjected, nodding at MacCready.  “Thanks for covering me.”

MacCready shrugged and stayed in the back.  Danse moved into the room, carefully stepping over the bodies of dead brotherhood soldiers.  Fahrenheit turned and saw one near the sill, still smoking.  The scribe must have used it as a shield—that must have been the figure she’d hit with the Ashmaker.  Smart.  And she’d been the only one with an angle who’d taken the shot.  How had MacCready known?

Danse reached them and Nick carefully stood up, letting the scribe go.

“Danse?”  The girl pushed herself up into a sitting position and looked up at him. Her expression said she was afraid to believe it.

“Haylen.”  He only barely got the word out.  He knelt down and held out a hand as if to help the girl up, but she ignored it and instead threw her arms around his neck, the blood from where Fahrenheit had clipped her arm slowly dripping blood down his shoulder.

Fahrenheit heard her crying and awkwardly looked away.  Cait did the same at the same moment and their gazes met.  They uncomfortably traded glances and moved with one accord over to Nick to check the damage.

“Alright, Nicky, let me see.”  Cait said, reaching for his coat.

“Not much we can do, anyway,” Nick tried to protest.  Cait pulled off the sleeve anyway and checked his back.  He wasn’t wearing anything under the coat, so there was no white shirt to get in the way.  None of them had ever actually seen Nick’s torso before.  Fahrenheit usually forgot the man was a synth—or rather—she just usually wasn’t thinking about it.  It didn’t matter.  K.L.E.O was practically her best friend.  Robots, synths, people, ghouls.  Who cared anyway, these days?  Unfortunately though, she didn’t know as much about patching up machines as dressing wounds.

MacCready on the other hand looked awkward about it—but then, he always did.  Cait also looked a bit uncomfortable, but she seemed to shake it off. 

“Damn, right in one side and out the other.  It messed up your frame.  How do your…I dunno—inside gears…feel?  Do you think it hurt you much?”

“No, it’s fine.”    Nick looked down at his chest and felt the exit wound.  “If I were human, I’d be bleeding a good bit right now, but I’d be alright.  Clean in and out.  And as a synth, I’m pretty sure it’s only superficial damage.”

“Oh.  Thank god.”  MacCready let out a breath, quickly adding,  “I didn’t want to get raked over the coals for this.”

“Alright.”  Cait let him slide the coat back over his shoulder.  She wasn’t sure if he was telling the truth, but she didn’t even know a whole lot about human anatomy when it came to medicine, let alone synth.  And they didn’t really have time to do much about it anyway.

The four as one glanced over to see if they’d given Haylen and Danse enough time.  They were still locked in a hug, but Danse saw them looking and let go.  He straightened up and stood, helping Haylen to her feet.  Haylen roughly ran an arm across her eyes to try to rub out the tear streaks, then turned to face the group. 

A little shyly, she finally spoke up.  “Uh, thank you.  I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

Nick gave a nod to accept the apology.

“Yes.  I…”  Danse couldn’t figure out exactly what to say.  “I am very glad she’s alright.  I…appreciate that…”

“…‘You got shot for her?’” MacCready offered.

Danse gave him a look but didn’t disagree.

“Don’t mention it.  Now, we’d better get to that roof.”  Nick stood up.

“She comin’ with us?”  Cait asked with an element of disbelief, clearly hoping someone would suggest that was a bad idea.

“Where?”  Haylen asked Danse. 

“We’re here for the Vertibird on the roof,” Danse explained. 

“Oh.” Haylen said as she and Danse started after the others, who, following Nick, had already begun to head deeper into the building.  “It won’t fly.  It’s out of fuel.”

“We expected that might be the case,” Fahrenheit called over her shoulder, making a quick detour outside for her Ashmaker.  “Danse is packing some.”

“I’m—um, I’m also sorry I tried to…kill all of you.  All we’ve had for days are raider attacks.  There…” Haylen looked down and hesitated. 

Fahrenheit rejoined the party and took point, leading them up a staircase towards the room. 

After a moment Haylen continued.  “There were more of us.  About eleven to start with.  Yesterday there were still three.  But.  Now just two.”

Fahrenheit stopped, and by necessity of the staircase size relative to Fahrenheit, so did everyone behind her.  “Two?  There’s another one of you?”

“Yeah,” Haylen replied.  “Last time I checked.  But he won’t last much longer.  Our lancer—Davin.  He was still breathing ten minutes ago.”  Fahrenheit started up the stairs again and the others followed.  “I’ve…”  she took a second and a deep breath “I’ve done everything I could to treat him—I did for all of them, but.  Most of the wounds have been too severe.  They just…faded out.”

Danse put a hand on her shoulder.  “I know you did everything you could.  You always do.”

A weak smile flickered on Haylen’s face for a second and was gone.  “We can get him help?”  Her face was turned to Danse again, and her voice was pleading.

Danse started to speak, but Fahrenheit cut him off.  “Danse can do whatever he wants, but first we need him to fly a Vertibird, or there’s not going to be anywhere in the Commonwealth left for you to take your dying friend downstairs.”

“What?”  Haylen looked from one to the other.  “What’s going on?”

The words were partially lost by the loud clang as Fahrenheit opened the doors to the roof.  Wind whipped around them, trying to blow her short cropped hair across her eyes.  It had been a long time since Fahrenheit had seen one of these babies close up.  She smiled.  She’d always thought they were a damn beautiful sight up in the sky.

Out of the corner of her eye, Fahrenheit caught Cait wearing a similar expression.  The two met eyes for a second and Cait grinned.

“Alright.  Let’s get started.”  It was Nick.  He moved up beside Fahrenheit.  “Danse, why don’t you re-familiarize yourself with the controls.  The rest of us can check the weapons and get her fueled up.”

Danse was so distracted by Haylen and the bird that he only cast Nick a mildly annoyed glance before complying and following the order to move to the cockpit.

“You’ll have to lose the power armor,” Fahrenheit observed.  Danse looked decidedly unhappy about this.

“Wait,” Haylen was incredulous.  “You want him to fly it?  He’s a Knight, he’s not a member of the air force!”

“Haylen, I can fly a Vertibird.  I had basic training before I was a Knight.”

“What, when you were a squire?”  Haylen’s weakly pale countenance had become flushed.  “Years ago?”

“So, you don’t know how to do this.”  Fahrenheit narrowed her eyes at Danse.

“Does it matter?”  Nick interjected.  “We don’t have time to find someone else.  If he thinks he can fly it, let him.  We’re on a bit of a time crunch.  Look, he and I’ll go up alone. Worst case scenario and he blows us up, the rest of you can still work out a plan B.”

“Wait.”  Haylen took an involuntary step forward.  She was a little surprised that everyone on the rooftop turned and actually waited to hear what she had to say.  In the Brotherhood, anyone above her rank usually ignored that particular word when she tried to use it.  It was like they were allergic to it.  But since she had a chance to continue, she did.  “Let me do it.”

“Haylen,” Danse’s voice had a warning tone.  “You’re not well, and you aren’t in the Air Force either.”

“No,” Haylen agreed, “But don’t you think we planned to use the Vertibird?  We wanted to get out of here when we saw the Prydwin go down—to go help the survivors.  Find them and move all of us somewhere safer, to regroup.  But we were attacked by a bunch of raiders inspired by the fireworks show the Institute put on.  We lost our power for the Vertibird in that first attack.  Someone smart went for the fuel and caused quite the explosion.  We had plans to go for more.  We had a lot of plans.  But they all revolved around the ship, because it was the only real chance our group ever had of getting out of this death trap of a city.”  Haylen looked at the Vertibird with a mixture of pain and regret.  “Davin was injured in the first attack.  Not as badly as he is now, but.  Well, back when we still thought it was possible for us to get out of here in in the bird, he tried to give all of us a basic working knowledge of flying one.  We were being realistic about the odds of a pilot still being alive by the time we got fuel.  I don’t think most of us could have done anything fancy, but we got the general idea, and I came up here a few times to try and put his words together with the controls.  When it dwindled down to just a handful of us, he spent most of his time conscious trying to remind us how it worked.  I can do it.”

“Fine by me,” Fahrenheit replied, turning away to get back to work.

“Hold on just a second—Haylen, are you sure?”  Danse was worried.  Fahrenheit hadn’t realized he was able to employ facial expressions except proud, serious, stoic, and annoyed. 

Haylen nodded.  “I can.  We can be a full team together, with you and your first rate experience as a gunner on the birds.  Let’s do the Brotherhood proud.”

“Do you even know what we’re doing?”  MacCready hadn’t been able to keep it in. 

Haylen looked surprised.  “No, but Danse is with you, and I trust him absolutely.  So I know I’m here to help.”

MacCready had the decency to turn away before he rolled his eyes.

“Where’s Curie?” 

Nick’s question started slow and ended with an undertone of panic.  Everyone except Haylen froze.  Danse went white.

Fahrenheit looked around in a vague, futile hope.  Maybe they were all wrong, and she was just being so quiet.  A very futile hope.  “How did we not notice this.  How did _I_ not?”

MacCready wasted no time.  “She was with Danse.”

“Danse!” He actually jumped at Fahrenheit’s voice.  “Well?”

“She was on the hill.  I told her to stay behind me and hang back when the shooting started.  And—when I—when we heard Haylen’s voice, I...”

“You abandoned her?”  the disbelief in Fahrenheit’s voice was palpable.

“Well, in his defense, none of you seemed to notice she was gone,” Haylen offered.

“You stay out of this!”  Snapped Fahrenheit.  She closed her eyes and rubbed them with her free hand.  “MacCready, go get her.  And while you’re at it, she’s got the medpack—have her stab a stimpack into brotherhood number 7 downstairs on your way back so these two can focus.  The rest of us will work on getting this thing airborne.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Deacon?”

Preston Garvey let out a breath he’d been holding and looked over at his companion.

“Yeah.” 

Deacon looked exhausted.  Worn ragged.  He was sickly pale, and despite the myriad of stimpacks he’d taken, a cut on his cheek and one across his broken nose had lingered.  And they weren’t all.  Almost everything seemed slow to heal. 

Preston didn’t know it, but the patches of time Deacon had been unconscious here and there over the past twenty-four hours were the only sleep he’d had in days.  For the past two weeks before this, he’d never had a day with more than an hour or two of the kind of sleep that you don’t wake up rested from.  Preston was guessing though, and his guess wasn’t far off.

Still, despite the obvious exhaustion and damage, his blue eyes were crisp.  Alert.  Completely awake.  They were watching Preston intently now, waiting for a response.

“You uh, holdin’ up okay?” Preston asked.  He’d forgotten how he planned on saying that.

Deacon almost smiled.  Ever concerned.  “Yeah.” 

Preston’s eyes passed over Deacon’s new forearm.  He could see the skin where it met the metal.  Small streaks of irritated red.  But it seemed to be working alright.  Still.  His whole…

Preston looked away and focused on his footsteps.  Cracks in the pavement.

“What do you think we’ll find when we get there?”  Deacon was looking forward as well.  Preston glanced over.

“Scared, angry, confused people who don’t know what to do about the world falling apart.”  Preston let out a breath.  “Hopefully, they’ll listen.”

“Don’t think so?” Deacon asked, glancing up at him. 

“I don’t know.”  Preston stared ahead, lost in thought.  Deacon watched him for a few seconds.

“Well, we’ll know soon enough,” Deacon replied. 

Preston looked up.  He knew where they were, he knew they were close.  They’d just crested a hill, and The Castle was in sight for the first time.  Preston felt his body tense inexplicably.  It was like it was bracing for something it knew was coming, that he had no idea about.  There were a lot of people up on the wall and camp smoke coming up from inside.  He could tell even from this great distance that the Castle was packed.

Preston saw a lookout catch sight of them and disappear inside the fort. 

When the group neared the Castle, the gates swept open for them.  Preston had moved forward to take point.  Deacon and Malloy were close behind him on either side.  Ronnie Shaw stood in the open doorway ahead, musket in hand.

“It’s about time.”  The gruff older woman looked Preston up and down.  “Where’s the rest of your patrol?”

“They stayed behind in Goodneighbor,” Preston answered honestly. 

“Well you better come on in.”  Ronnie moved aside, and Preston thankfully led his group inside the walls. “You all make it in one piece?”  Ronnie asked, watching then carefully as they stepped in. 

“We lost Shora, Malcolm, and John in a fight with a Courser,” Preston said, following Ronnie deeper inside the Castle.  The fort was packed full of Minutemen and settlers.  More people than he’d seen in one place since Quincy.  Kids, moms, dads, loners, ghouls, caravans.  Makeshift tents and bedrolls scattered the ground.  A Minuteman he didn’t know was trying to teach a handful of farmers how to use the cannons.  He noticed a little girl a few feet away, watching him from behind a crate.  He smiled and gave a small wave.  The child’s eyes widened and she stepped further behind the box, but he saw her hand go up in a tiny answering wave.

“Someone brought dogs,” Deacon observed.  He was looking across the court.  About twelve dogs were flocking around one man.  Consequently, a little group children and two teens were flocking around the dogs. 

Ronnie stopped walking and turned to face Preston.  “Alright, so out with it.  The whole story.  The General’s dead.  And if I’m right,” she motioned her head towards Deacon “ _he’s_ the man who did it.”

Preston told her the story, as quickly as he could and with only the details she needed.  Ronnie listened slowly and nodded a few times.  Deacon watched Preston while he recounted the past twenty-four hours, without interjecting.  It was up to the Minutemen to decide how to respond to him and this mess.  He wasn’t there to work damage control for his own situation—just to back Preston up and try to help him convince them how to respond to the Institute.  He was too tired to care about much else anyway.  His eyes wandered around the Castle as Preston spoke, until he noticed the same little girl Preston had seen when they walked in.  She was staring at his synth arm from behind one of a few nearby stacks of crates.  Deacon glanced down at the metal, then smiled.  He moved several steps away from Preston and Ronnie and knelt down, then motioned to the little girl with his human arm. 

“You’re absolutely sure?”  Ronnie asked.  She turned her head and watched Deacon move off a few steps.  “And why did you bring him with you?  Were you planning to do something with him?”

“I didn’t ‘bring’ him, he wanted to come and help us,” Preston replied, sounding concerned.  “Look, I know it’s a lot to take in, but it’s the truth.”

“Even if Sole really was that bad, and I do believe it after all I’ve heard, that doesn’t make _him_ trustworthy.  We’re stuck dealing with the Institute now, and their synths and their Coursers.  He’s Railroad.  Group sends mind-wiped Institute synths all over the Commonwealth.  For heaven sakes, boy, he could be dangerous.  Is dangerous.”  Ronnie let out an exasperated sigh.  “You don’t even really know him.”

“You’re wrong about that,” Preston replied firmly, turning his head to look at Deacon for a second.  “I’ve seen how he fights.  The man was willing to die so my patrol and I could get away.  And I’ve met the Railroad a few times.  I know no one in the Commonwealth is big on synths, but they weren’t a bad group of people.  They weren’t that different from us.”

Ronnie cast a suspicious glance at Deacon’s back and continued her conversation with Preston.

Deacon knew they were talking about him, but he was tired.  He couldn’t really care what the Minutemen decided.  It wasn’t his decision to make.  It was their business, and what they wanted to do about him was up to them.  His role in all this was probably over, or near it.  He was weak, he wasn’t healing correctly, no matter the number of stimpacks everyone kept giving him. 

And mission accomplished.

He’d killed Sole.  That was the only reason he’d stayed alive.  And he’d done it.  Now there wasn’t much reason.  He should have bled out there, it would have been fitting.  Now there was…I mean, do what he could, sure.  About the Institute.  But…There wasn’t anything left.  Nothing now.  So he was…

…Right, that was right.  He’d told Preston that they’d work together on this thing.  So he couldn’t punch out just yet.  He’d help, as much as he was able, for as long as he lasted.  But Preston could handle things how he wanted.  Deacon was…just an afterthought and an extra gun.

He wasn’t paying attention to the kid now, lost in thought.  He was brought back into the moment when she stepped out a little further towards him and stopped.  Deacon slowly took his gun out and set it on the grass beside him.  The child watched with big eyes.  Sort of a silly move, considering everyone and their grandmother was packing heat in the Commonwealth, but it seemed to work.  The kid thought for a second, then took a hesitant step towards him.  Deacon waited patiently.  She kept walking, pausing about three feet away from him. She tucked her hands behind her back.  Slowly, Deacon shifted and held his left arm out at an angle, presenting the robotics to the child.

“It’s ok, kid.  I don’t bite.”

The little girl took a cautious step forward and very slowly moved close enough to touch his arm.  She hesitated.

“Go ahead.”  He held perfectly still.  The girl gingerly let her index finger connect with the metal, then jerked her hand back, as if the arm had burned her.  When nothing terrible happened, she looked up at him for reassurance, then slowly reached for the arm again, this time letting all five fingertips meet the metal, and then running her palm along its smooth surface.

“It’s cold,” The little girl said after a second.

“Yeah.”  Deacon turned the arm over and moved his fingers.  The girl watched in fascination as joints folded and wires shifted.  “Pretty interesting, huh?”

She nodded.  “How did you get a robot hand?” 

“Fighting badguys,” he replied, making the hand into a fist.  The girl’s eyes widened.

“Woa.  I bet you can punch really hard.”

He nodded solemnly.  The little girl put her palm up to his and studied his fingers in comparison with her own. 

After a few seconds, she titled her head and looked up at him.  “Did you come to fight off the badguys here?”

“Here?”  He asked, momentarily glancing around the crowded court.

The little girl nodded.  “Mom and Dad said we had to leave home because the synths were going to hurt us.  Danny says they’re coming.  Some people already got hurt by them, trying to run away.”

Deacon held out his hand, palm up.  The little girl placed her hand on his and looked at the metal thoughtfully.  “Of course, kiddo.  But it’s not the synths that are the real badguys.”  He turned his head and used his free hand to point at the group of kids and dogs across the court.  “Do you like dogs?”  The little girl looked confused, but nodded.  “Well, know how sometimes Raiders train dogs to act big and mean, and to chase people, and bite them, and hurt them on command?”

“Yes.”  The little girl replied, watching the dogs now too.

“That’s how it is with the synths.  The real badguys are the Institute.  They scare and train the synths like Raiders do dogs, and make them hunt for them.  Synths can be dangerous, and bad, but sometimes they’re good too.”

“Like dogs.”  The little girl finished.

He nodded.  “Or people.  But the Institute, they’re bad.”  Deacon motioned his head towards Preston.  “You see that man?”  The little girl nodded.  “He’s in charge of the Minutemen, and they’re going to protect everyone here.”  Deacon glanced at the kid, and noticed that the edge of her dress was singed.  Someone had put a bandage around the leg bellow it.  A frown flickered across his face.  No wonder she was skittish and scared.  He looked back up at the little girl.  “You can trust him.  He’s a goodguy.  And he’s strong.”

The little girl watched Preston intently for a few seconds, then looked back at Deacon.

“He saved my life,” Deacon continued, sensing the need for proof.  “You know what a Courser is?”  Her eyes widened and she gave one slow nod.  “He fought one and beat it, all by himself.  With a rock.”  She was amazed.  Deacon smiled and nodded.  Honestly, he was still a little amazed too.  He’d seen some wild shit, but that probably took the cake.  “It’s true.  The Courser had all the weapons the Institute had to offer, and all he had was a rock, and he still beat it.  The Minutemen are tougher than anyone gives them credit for, and so are the rest of us.  We’re the Commonwealth, and if the Institute thinks we’ll be beaten easily, it’s got another thing coming.” 

She smiled for a second, but then her serious expression returned.  “You know he can stop them?” 

 “He won’t be alone,” Deacon replied.  “We’re all going to fight together, and keep each other safe here.  And him and me?  We both already beat those guys once on our own, and now we’re a team.”  She almost looked reassured now, so he kept going.  “Listen, the Institute might be the big bad wolf out here, but the two of us are going to hunt it down.  Promise.” For a second he wondered if he meant it.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------

 

“Look, I’m betting my life on this.  Just, listen to him, for five minutes, and if you’re still unsure, I know I can—what?”  Preston stopped because Ronnie had laughed.

“You can quit white-knuckling it, son.  I’m inclined to believe you.  I’ve been inclined to believe you since you two walked in, but it’s always better to put the pressure on—see if you crack.”

He stared in surprise.  “And Deacon?”

Ronnie’s smile turned to a frown and then ended somewhere between the two expressions.  “Well, I never was big on the Railroad, but they’re all dead now, and he’s another pair of hands.  Besides which, I don’t really feel he’s too much of a threat.”  He followed her gaze over to were Deacon was crouched, a few feet away, talking with the little girl he’d noticed when they walked in.  Ronnie started to walk towards the two.  “I see you managed to lose one of his arms.”

“Yes, I told you he was wounded—in his fight with Sole.”  Preston followed her.

“Alright,” Ronnie barked when she was about a foot away. 

Deacon hadn’t done anything to acknowledge he heard them coming over, but he didn’t start.  He told the little girl he was talking with she’d better get back to her family, then slowly turned and stood up, and waited expectantly for further exposition. 

As the little girl passed Preston, she paused to wave.  As soon as he returned the gesture, she darted off.  

“Come on,” Ronnie snapped, turning to go deeper into the Castle’s court.  “You’re both in.”

Deacon looked at Preston, who nodded, and then fell into step at his side.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deacon and Preston start working on plans. Hancock, Piper, Ellie, and Codsworth reach Diamond City. Deacon sees chillingly familiar patterns repeating and wonders how long it will be before he has to bury his last friend.

Chapter 14

“So, what’s the plan?” Deacon asked, keeping pace beside Preston.

Preston glanced over at him, then back ahead.  “Hold a meeting.  There’s a lot of Minutemen here, but also a whole lot of settlers.  We need everyone on the same page—everyone pitching in, if we’re gonna make it.  I’ve been holed up and pinned down before, and things can fall apart easy.”

His face had grown hard, lost in a memory.  Deacon watched him in silence for a moment. 

“I agree.  Everyone here has had to fight off something before.  Raiders, Gunners, one of our many Commonwealth monsters.  If everyone works together, we can defend this place pretty well, but we need to act fast.  We need to set up some solid defensive tactics, and we need an escape route, in case it comes that that.  This place,” Deacon gestured to the high stone walls around them.  “It’s great for defending if you can keep the enemy back, but if it gets overrun, we’re all going to be fish in a barrel.  We lose the walls, and everyone in here is going to die, and it’ll be messy, and fast, and very, very final.  Now, it’s at least unlikely they’ll attack us from the sea side, so that’s a plus, but we need an escape route—preferably that way—if worst comes to worst and we have to go scorched earth here.”

“I know.” Preston’s voice had the same edge in it as it had had earlier.  It wasn’t directed at Deacon, it was almost like it was directed at himself.  “If they get in we damn well better have a way to get out.  But even if we do, they get in and we’re still going to lose a lot of people.  We’ve got to try to hold this place.”

“Then we have to get creative, and we have to get everyone on board,” Deacon replied.  “I’ve got some ideas, and I’ll have more once I’ve really seen the place and know what supplies we’re working with, but who knows how much time we have.  You need to send scouts out.”

“I already talked to Ronnie about that.  She’s sent a handful of people.  Once we hold a meeting, I’ll try to get the lookouts more organized.”

They passed a Minuteman stationed at a large cannon.  Deacon’s eyes appraised it as they passed.  “How many of those things have you got?” 

“Last I checked, eight,” Preston replied.  Deacon nodded.

“Supplies?”

“Well,” they turned a corner.  Preston paused to let a cart pass him.  “We were well stocked last time I was here, but with so many people.”

“But probably weapons, ammunition, metal—you know, supplies other than food and water.  Good on those?”  Deacon opened a crate in passing.  It was full of gunpowder.

“Unless something drastic has changed, yes.”  Preston stopped and watched the overcrowded courtyard.  “Might be low on medical supplies though.”

“This isn’t good,” Deacon observed, joining him.  More people than he’d ever seen in one place before.  “It’s a lot of people to keep alive, and the space is so packed with camps there’s not much room to fight if anything makes it past the outer defenses.  Even random blindfire in any direction would mow down a handful of people.  Plus, we got a lot of civilians, a lot of people with no experience fighting the institute.  It’s not that they can’t fight, I mean damn—anyone from the Commonwealth can fight—it’s that they’re unorganized, and that people suck at fighting when they’re scared.  Even a good fighter, when they think they’ve already lost, is a shit fighter.  And they’re all fucking terrified of the Institute.”

Preston nodded slowly.  “I know. We have to pull them together.  Get them inspired and angry instead.” 

“That would certainly be ideal.  So, how are you going to do that?” Deacon asked, leaning his forearms on a crate and watching one of the rooftop scouts san the horizon.

“I don’t know.”

Deacon turned in surprise.  Preston was staring at the ground, deep in thought.

“I don’t know exactly, but I’ve got to, and I’ve got to do it now.”  Preston looked up and met Deacon’s gaze.

Deacon nodded.  “Alright then.  Let’s wing the hell out of this.”

 

* * *

 

 

Codsworth floated along behind the rest of the group.  Piper and Hancock were competing for point, so they mostly ended up walking next to each other.  Ellie followed, and Dogmeat trotted along beside her.

“We’re getting close,” Piper observed.  The look on her face was determined.  Concentrated.

“Yeah, we all know.  Been there before.”  Hancock was fiddling with his knife.

“You know, if you keep doing that while walking, you’re going to cut your fingers off,” Piper said, watching him in annoyance.

“Awwww,” Hancock gave her a fake, toothy grin “It’s touching you care.” He twirled the knife effortlessly around his fingertips.

Ellie looked at Dogmeat and shook her head. Dogmeat barked in agreement and bumped his head against her thigh.  Ellie did her best to pet him while still moving forward.

“No, I was actually saying that in the hope it would encourage you to continue,” Piper shot back, returning his fake smile.  “I need something to lighten the mood, and watching you lose your thumb would actually be very therapeutic.”

Ellie dropped back a few paces next to Codsworth.  “Hey,” she smiled at the robot. “Thank you, for coming along.  You didn’t have to, but I appreciate the support.”

The robot turned two of its eyes towards her.  “It was my pleasure.  Mr. Valentine specifically asked that I accompany you three.  He told me he would hate for you to be the only one going in with a cool head, Miss Perkins.”

“Yeah,” Ellie smiled a far-away smile.  “That’s Nick for you.”

“Miss Perkins,” Codsworth asked after a moment, “do you happen to know why Miss Wright and the Mayor dislike each other so much?”

“Uh, Hancock, or Mayor McDonough?”  Ellie replied.  Both were valid questions.

“I was referring to Mayor Hancock.  I believe Miss Wright’s ‘disagreement’ with the Mayor of Diamond City is somewhat aligned with her belief that he is a synthetic replacement,”  Codsworth answered.

“It is.  And some of his policies—starting with the anti-ghoul platform he was elected on.  Mayor Hancock?  I’ve actually wondered that myself.  The best I can figure, she disapproves of the way he legalizes and organizes crimes—all the mercenary operations, black market trading, and drug running in Goodneighbor type stuff.  He’s more…uh…violent, I guess, than she is comfortable with?”  Ellie waved her hand in the air dismissively.  “Or, approves of, or something.  He has been known to…well, kill people, when he thinks they suck.  Piper isn’t big on killing, or gangs, or rampant drug usage.”

“Ah.”  Codsworth considered this.  “I see.  I suppose that makes sense.”

“Although,” Ellie continued.  “It’s not like half the Commonwealth doesn’t do worse.  But I guess that’s just my opinion.  Mayor Hancock’s a good guy.  Maybe a little extreme.  Little violent, unpredictable.  Very volatile.  But,” she let out a sigh.  “Well, I think he tries his best.  No, I know he does.  I really admire him, for leaving Diamond City back when his brother got elected on that awful anti-ghoul platform.” She turned to Codsworth “He, wasn’t a ghoul back then—You probably already know that.”  Ellie looked ahead at Hancock and considered him.  “He tried to help the families that got thrown out, left with them.  I don’t really know how it all ended, but I know like most things in the Commonwealth it didn’t turn out well.  But anyway, giving up life in Diamond City for them when he didn’t have to, it was a brave thing to do.”

“Even if he left to become Mayor of the criminal city?”  Codsworth finished.

“Yeah.  Or—I’m not sure I would exactly call it that.  I grew there, and the Goodneighbor I knew, Hancock made it what it is.  I wish I could explain what Goodneighbor was like before.  He really turned it around.  It’s a good place now.  I mean,” she smiled at the robot “it’s a little full of drugs and booze and hitmen, but we’re a dangerous, explosive, disreputable family over there now.  A bit criminal too maybe, but a family none the less.  We look out for each other.  Like a gang—but with a lot less negatives.”

“Do you miss it, Miss Perkins?”  Codsworth asked.

“I do,” Ellie nodded.  “I’m not going to leave Diamond City.  Nick’s my friend, and I love my job there, but.  Yeah.  Diamond City might be the more ‘civilized,’ but it’s less personal.  I’ll admit a literal backstabbing is less likely inside the walls of the ‘great green jewel,’ but figurative ones can come on in waves.  In Goodneighbor, I always knew we stuck together. On the things that really mattered, anyway.  I’m sorry—I’m rambling, and I’ve talked myself way beyond your original question.” 

“No, no,” Codsworth answered in a friendly tone of voice.  “Not at all.  It was quite nice chatting with you.  However,” all three eyes shifted forward and up “I do believe we’re within sight of the wall now.”

“Hey,” Piper called over her shoulder.  “Ellie.”

Ellie increased her stride and caught up with Piper and Hancock.  Codsworth floated closer behind them and watched.

“So, gameplan going in.”  Piper looked from Hancock to Ellie.  “If we get lucky, it’ll be Danny.  I think we could convince him to let us in.”

“Pull rank, mention I’m the Mayor of Goodneighbor, make it sound like a diplomatic incident.  Might be worth something,” Hancock added.  “Even if it’s worst case, and we get McDunnough, I can always threaten him and see if they let us in so his guards and I can get in a fist fight.”

“Let’s just…start diplomatically, okay?”  Ellie suggested.  “…And pray it’s Danny.”

Piper nodded.

The little group approached the gate to Diamond City slowly.  Ellie’s warning about lockdown and snipers was fresh in all of their minds.

“Okay,” Piper took a deep breath.  “Let me handle this.”  She walked a few steps ahead of the group and called up to the gate.  “Danny?  It’s Piper—open the gate.”  Silence.  “Danny? Danny, come on—it’s important.  Look, bad stuff is going down.  The Institute is going to attack.  I need to talk to McDunnough.  Come on, Danny!  At least talk to me.”

“I’m sorry about earlier.”  Piper hadn’t heard Ellie move up behind her.  “If that helps,” the secretary continued.

Finally, Danny’s voice crackled across the speakers.  “Piper, where have you been?”  The man sounded even more tired than usual.

“Hey, Danny,” Piper tried not to sound fake.  “Glad to hear your voice!  Can you get this door open?”

“Piper, we’re on lockdown.  No one’s supposed to come in or out.  Hi, Ellie.”  The last bit came out after a quick, rather uncomfortable silence.

“Hey, Danny.”  Ellie replied awkwardly.  “Again—this morning—my bad.”

“I know, Ellie told me,” Piper continued, ignoring Ellie.  “But I wasn’t here when we went into lockdown, and I need to talk to McDunnough.  It’s important!  It’s about the Institute.  I think they’re going to hit Diamond City and I—we—want to help.”

“Then, where did you run off to this morning?”  Danny asked.  From the sound of his voice, this exchange wasn’t something he was enjoying any more than they were.

“I went out for news because I heard my husband was dead, Danny!  What did you think?”  Piper snapped.

“And—“

“Before you ask,” Piper cut Danny off sharply “Nick came to help me look.  But he’s still in Goodneighbor.  It was nothing ‘nefarious,’ despite what I’m sure our humble Mayor here has been suggesting.”

“Look, Piper,” he sounded a little desperate.  “I believe you—I really do.  But I don’t have the authority to let you all in.  We’re already in trouble for letting her get out.”

“I heard you say you were afraid someone would shoot Nick if he came back!” Ellie defended.  “You understand why I had to go.”

“Yeah, I-I do, Ellie.  But I can’t—“

This time it was Hancock who interrupted him.  “Look, you don’t gotta open it just so some citizens can get back in.  I’m here to talk to the Mayor.  At least get the son of a bitch, and tell him that much.  Goodneighbor needs a few words with Diamond City.  It’s an official envoy, you feel me?”

“Mayor…Hancock?”  Danny sounded shocked.  “I—Ok, yeah, I can tell him that.  But I’m not sure…”

“Come on, Danny.  Just do it!”  Piper cut in.

“Wait.” Ellie spoke up again.  “What were you about to say, Danny?”

There was a pause, and then, slowly, “I’m not sure…you all should come inside.  Things are…really tense, Ellie.  Myrna’s been trying to start things all day, and she’s not the only one.  It’s on the boiling point, like I’ve never seen before.  And—no offense, Mayor Hancock, but Diamond City doesn’t allow ghouls.  Usually they just get kicked out, but today—”

“What,” there was a dangerous edge to Hancock’s voice “is that a threat?”

“No! No, I’m—I’m trying to warn you.  If you all come in, things might get more…extreme—bad—than usual.  I’ve never seen it like this.  Just.  I don’t want to see a fight break out, or anyone get hurt,” Danny sounded desperate. 

“Well, don’t worry, pal,” Hancock replied.  “We can handle ourselves.  Now, would you get this door open and let your Mayor know we’re here?”

“Alright, alright.  I’ll go talk to him.  It…may take awhile.”

“Danny, please, we don’t have time for that!” Piper protested.  “Do you want people to die?”

“Of course I don’t!”  Danncy answered.  “Do you think this is an easy situation for me?  I want to just let you in—“

“Look, buddy, how about this”  Hancock said, deciding to give strategy one more go.  “You open the door, and we’ll go with you to the Mayor’s office.  Nothing funny, no wasting time.  Straight to business.  Come on, it’s safest for everyone this way.  Plus, look at her” Hancock pointed to Piper and tried to sound compassionate “Poor girl’s practically out of her mind with worry for her little sis.  Wouldn’t you be?”

“Miss Wright is of course terribly worried about her sister,” Codsworth added.  “And the young lady just lost her husband.  Imagine what she’s going through at present.”

“Yeah,” Hancock agreed, picking his thread back up and joining Codsworth in shaming Danny “And Nat’s the only family she’s got.  Poor kid, all alone in that city chaos you were just describing.  You gotta let her in, or you’re practically heartless.”

“Alright, fine!”  Danny finally gave in.  Codsworth heard him let out an exasperated sigh. “Okay.  But.  Just—try not to antagonize things.  Any more.  Than they, you know, already are.”

The four outside the wall exchanged looks.

Hancock’s “Yeah” ran together with Ellie’s “Of course,” Codsworth’s “Certainly, Officer,” and the beginning of Piper’s “Sure thing.”

There was silence, and then the sound of gears shifting as the gate began to open.

Piper grinned at her companions.  “Alright, so far, so good.”

“Yeah,” Hancock scowled.  “But now we get the Mayor.”  He made a disgusted sound deep in his throat.

“For once I agree,” Piper conceded. “Yuck.  But there’s no way around it.”

“Come on, let’s get it over with,” Ellie said with a sigh.

“Do cheer up,” Codsworth interjected, trying to do just that.  “I’m sure we’ll pull together alright.”

“Yeah,” Piper smiled at him, but the smiled faded.  “Right.”

 

* * *

 

 

Deacon watched Preston Garvey.  The man was standing at the edge of a tent, deep in thought.  He didn’t move.  So still he could have been a part of the fort itself.  There was a crowd outside.  A lot of people—everyone that was staying in and around the castle.  And he had to get them to listen.

Deacon was good at talking.  His primary weapon was his wit.  Guns were great—honestly—love ‘em.  Knives—silent—super useful.  But someone with a good head on their shoulders could win against a team of five with machine guns, while using nothing more than a length of rope.

He studied Preston’s face.

Or a rock, maybe.

Preston didn’t fight with his head though—not usually.  He was a good tactician.  Deacon could tell from the way he talked about his plans.  But he didn’t fight with his head—not like Deacon did.  Deacon could out think himself, if he had to.  And he had.  He could figure out where leaks were, find out who to trust, flank the enemy, destroy entire buildings on his own.  He could talk his way out of the enemy camp, disappear in an empty room, and think on his feet fast enough to escape the burning wreckage of everything he’d help build.  He’d done the last one too many times now.  Way too many.  Hell, the first time was too many.  Borrowed time, and for some reason, life kept extending his lease on it.  Out of everyone, why was he the last to be called to collect?  It should have been Dez—or hell—Glory.  It should have been Tommy, or High Rise.   High Rise…  God damn it, it should have been any one of them.  Because they weren’t like him—they didn’t fight with their heads.  Dezdemona, Glory, High Rise, Tommy, Barbara.  They’d all been people like Preston, who fought with their hearts.  And now they were all dead, and he was alive, and cold, and calculating, and one step ahead of death, because he was just smart enough to cheat it, and just coward enough not to let it catch up with him.  Just convictionless enough for death not to care when he did.

He didn’t know what Preston was going to say.  He was good at leading—heart people are.  You look at them and see they don’t just think it, they believe it—they mean it—they feel it.  You know they’ll lead the charge and die first, because heart people always do, and it makes you want to be right there with them, because there’s no shred of cowardice, or falseness, or manipulation in their eyes, and maybe if you’re with them, you can change that outcome.  Heart people are the leaders you would die for, because they will die for you. 

Then you got people like him—people who fight with their heads.  The ones that inspire you just long enough for making one chess move, just long enough for you to do the thing they picked you out for, just long enough to watch you die alone.  So that they can keep leading, keep thinking—keep outthinking the enemy.  And then when it’s all over they’re all that’s left and all of it wasn’t worth a god damn thing to anyone…

Deacon looked at the ground. 

People like him and Sole.  People who really should be dead because they kill everything they touch just because it’s in their nature and they don’t know how not to outthink what they love and leave it behind to die.  Because there’s some fault in their programming, something wrong in their DNA.  People like them. Fuck.

“Deacon.”

Preston’s voice.  Deacon looked up at him again.  He was still almost unmoving, quiet—unreal.  What was Preston, exactly?  And why?  Deacon wanted to know, because he wanted to die.  He didn’t want to be safe behind him.  He wanted to be between the heart and the bullet for once, and watch someone pass him, instead of leaving them behind in a shallow grave.  Shit.  He’d never gotten to bury anyone.  Or maybe he just hadn’t.  He wondered if he was going to have to bury Preston.  Or if he was going to have to live with the guilt of knowing he hadn’t.

Maybe, God willing, he would finally be the one that went first.  But that would be mercy, and mercy wasn’t something life gave out to people like him.  There wasn’t room for mercy in a mind that could outthink death.  There wasn’t room for anything.

“Time?”  Deacon asked, standing slowly.

“Yeah.  It is.” Preston ran his hand through his hair, then placed his militia hat on and straightened it. 

Deacon watched him for a second before speaking.  “You can do it.”  He meant it, and when Preston met his gaze he tried his best to show that, to make Preston believe it too.  “You can convince them.”

“I’m glad one of us is sure.”  Preston walked to the edge of the tent and paused, hand on the tent flap.  They could both hear the crowd outside now. 

“Trust me.” Deacon joined him by the tent edge. “I’ve seen a lot of leaders come and go.” 

“Yeah,” Preston turned to him, “but I don’t think you’ve seen anyone have to talk down a big angry, scared crowed of untrained, disorganized, defensive civilians, right before asking them to risk their lives fighting the single biggest known threat in the Commonwealth.”

“You’d be surprised,” Deacon replied, smiling at him.

Preston’s fingers tightened on the tent flap. He looked down, then over at Deacon.  “It’s a lot to ask of somebody.  I know it’s what’s best for them—for all of us.  We have to fight to survive—If we don’t stand and protect each other now, we’ll lose everything.  And I know we can win, I know it, but…”

“…But will they follow you?” Deacon asked.  He suddenly felt sad, deeply.  And it was hard to look at Preston.

“I’m not any kind of good leader.  I do what I can, but Deacon,” Preston hasn’t looking at him either, his fingers were biting into the tent now and his gaze was fixed on the ground.   “I’m not good enough at this kind of thing.  I’m not like Sole was, or like General Becker.  I’m—”

“—Preston.”

Preston stopped and looked up.  Deacon was looking forward, as if he could see the crowd through the tent, but he turned his head then, looking back at Preston and meeting his eyes.

“You’re wrong,” Deacon continued.  His tone was almost weary, but Preston could tell that he meant it. “You have what it takes to make a good leader. The best kind.  Kind who can get people to take up a cause and really believe in it—not just join and follow.”

Preston saw the look on Deacon’s face and tried to get him to smile.  “Yeah?  Perseverance through crippling fear?”

Deacon was silent for a second, like something was wrong, and he looked sad when he finally smiled back.  “Heart.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fahrenheit's group takes off. Preston faces the settlers at The Castle; time to see if he can lead.

Chapter 15

Running on borrowed time. 

It wasn’t always something other members of the railroad remembered, but Deacon had been around for a long time. A really long time.  No telling exactly how long—no one but him knew for sure, but before Desdimona.  Before Carrington.  He’d been through at least three HQ massacres, somehow.  Plus two near-misses.  And then, he’d gotten unlucky this time.  He hadn’t even been there when it went down.

They’d had a good run, Desdimona’s crew.  It was something to be proud of.  They’d saved more synths in their time than under any of the other leaders combined.  They’d gotten better organized, gotten smart, efficient, they’d gotten good.  A lot of that had been Deacon.  He’d organized dead drops, helped make their codes and signs better, found tourists to help, recruited, caught infiltrators, run ops, reclaimed data.  A long time ago he’d had to rebuild the railroad from the ground up nearly singlehanded.  But he’d stuck with them.  Always so careful, always so smart, always thinking his way out of things. 

Blame was easy, but.  If they'd have been able to, the rest of his group would have told him they didn't blame him.  Well, maybe not Carrington.  He'd always been harsh.  But the truth was, Deacon  couldn’t have known about Sole.  He’d been smart, he’d been careful, he’d been so careful.  And they knew it.  Everyone knew it.  Sole had helped them—the Railroad.  He’d made a new safehouse, established contact with Randolph, run a successful escort and protection op, killed a Courser—hell, he’d found the institute with them. 

Nobody could have known that he would change like that.  So fast.  Someone they knew.  Dez had tried to remain suspicious, careful, arms-length—she always did, Deacon too.  But.  Sole, he’d had drinks with them.  Deacon and he had carried each other out of firefights.  He’d been half brought back from the dead by Carrington, more than once.  Been part of the two-man heavy team, the last line of defense.  They’d been…Comrades.  No.  Friends.  And there are things you just can’t suspect, not really, even when you try.  Not fully.  None of them had known what he’d do, could have seen it coming.  Seen him walk up, take his new assignment from Drummer Boy, buy a few stimpacks from Carrington, joke about a scar, smile at Desdemona, walk up to the other heavy, toss her a beer, give her a pat on the back, and then a bullet through the back of an old friend’s skull.

Deacon would probably never believe that though.

He was always careful, always.  The real problem with someone who knows they’re smart and believes they’re heartless is that when someone else finally outthinks them, or they get unlucky, or it’s their turn to miss a trick, when that finally happens, when they fail at the only thing they think is good about them, they won’t realize that they have anything left.  To do, to be, to live for. 

Too smart to realize how stupid they are.  Like the dead friends you left behind would want you to suffer and join them, and not find something to keep going for.  Stupid.

 

* * *

 

“We ready to fly?”   
Nick turned around at the sound of MacCready’s slightly unhappy tone as Curie shut the door behind him and stepped out with him onto the roof.  Seeing Nick looking, Curie waved.

“Yeah,” Nick replied over the sound of the helicopter’s engine as MacCready moved up to join him, “They’re just consulting routes there.”  With his head he indicated Danse, Fahrenheit, and Haylen, who were bent over a piece of paper. 

“Great,” MacCready sighed, tinges of his unhappiness with being on this mission still coloring his voice.  He adjusted his rifle and looked the slightly damaged vertibird up and down.  “This’ll be fun.”

Nick smiled.  “Oh yeah.”

Fahrenheit looked up from over by the map.  “Oh good, they’re back.”  She turned to the assembled group in general.  “Alright, board up.  We’re moving out.  Nick, Curie in the back, out of sight. Cait, you and MacCready take the middle in case Danse or I need a second.  We’ll take the gunner positions.  Haylen, don’t fuck this up.”

Haylen nodded.

MacCready sized up the vertibird.  Yeah, it looked kind of pre-trashed.  Just like he’d thought the first twelve times he looked at it. 

Curie moved past him to climb on board.  Halfway up, she turned and smiled.  “This will be quite the opportunity!  I love the view from up high in the air.  Everything is so far away.”  She beamed, then disappeared on board.

Nick put a hand on MacCready’s shoulder and then climbed on himself.

MacCready took one last long look at a crack on the top of the bird where it had been hit by some pretty impressive projectile as Cait hopped on. He glanced her way and she flashed him a grin. MacCready sighed, resigned himself, and followed.  “Awesome.”

 

* * *

 

 

Preston and Deacon were outside the tent, standing on a little platform, addressing a sea of unwelcoming faces.  Or, Preston was.  Deacon was just offering silent support from behind while Preston spoke.  His fingers were still distractedly finding the surface of his new, metallic arm.  Trying to get used to it. 

Preston surveyed the huge crowd of onlookers and took a breath.  “Everyone, thank you for your attention.  I know these two days have been a horrible, terrifying time for the Commonwealth.  And I know there’s a lot of very deserved confusion and worry about the state of the Minutemen and the situation with our former General.  I’m going to do my best to explain everything as well and concisely as I can.”

The crowd was listening. They were murmuring to each other quietly, but they were more than willing to let him speak.  They wanted to know.

“Sole was a pretty public figure here. Most of the faces I’m seeing here today are people who have met him personally, at least once or twice.  A lot of you folks he helped—saved even.  I’m the same.  When I met Sole, I was holed up in the old Museum of Freedom in Concord with a group of civilians, a huge gang of Raiders on our tail, and Sole swooped in at the last second like the damn Silver Shroud.  I know he’s done things like that for lots of you—for most of you maybe.”

There was a pretty strong consensus on this.

“That’s why I asked him to join the Minutemen—to lead us.  Because he was out there doing everything we stand for.  But things changed.”  Preston glanced at the people below him, trying to gauge their reactions as he went.  “Because he made it to the Institute.”

Talking this time—not murmurs.  Preston had to get louder to be heard cleanly over it.

“You all read the Diamond City paper—or hear about it?”

Nods again, general agreement.  News was communal in the Commonwealth.  Everyone knew everything.

“They ran a story awhile back, about how he was looking for his son.  Well, he found that son he was looking for.  In the Institute.”

Big reaction this time.  Deacon watched as people turned to each other, asking questions and picking out likely answers instead of waiting to hear. 

“And that’s when things changed,” Preston continued, “His son ran things up there, a lot of them.  And he offered Sole the chance to live safe and powerful with him in the Institute.  He accepted it.  Then he started helping his son wipe every threat off the map.”  Even from a distance, Preston could tell from expressions alone that some people were taking what he said at face value, and some weren’t.  It made sense.  Sole had a lot of friends, and this was a lot to believe.  Preston could feel the ebb and flow in the crowd, the indecision.  “You’ve seen it.”  Preston gestured.  Far in the distance, you could just barely see the remains of Boston Airport and the husk of what had once been the Pyrdwin.  “Railroad first, then the Brotherhood.  And now, all that’s left are us.  The Minutemen, Goodneighbor, Diamond City, and you.”

Preston paused, and tere was dead silence for just a second, then everyone was talking at once.

“I don’t believe it!” some woman near the middle of the crowd was finally loud enough to be understood as an individual.  “Sole saved my farm!”

Everyone had to get a word in then, which made it impossible for anyone to really be heard.  Preston tried to raise his voice above the uproar.  “Please, please.  Just calm down, everyone.  I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s the truth.”

“Why should we believe you?” A man shot back.  “All we know for sure is that you were involved in his death!”

“No, it was the Railroad guy!” A woman across the court shouted. 

“And how’s that any better?” the original man shot back “They spread synths across the Commonwealth like a plague!”

“This isn’t about them,” Preston protested.  “This is about the Institute!  We can all agree they’re the enemy, right?”

Finally, a hit.  There was a lull.  People looked around at each other.  It was a pretty sincere feeling all around that the Institute was no damn good.

“Well, yeah,” a young man in front replied.  “But...You think we can just up and fight them?” It got quieter.  The young man took a step forward and continued.  “Look around you!  We’re not soldiers.  We’re farmers!  If the Institute wants to wipe out the Minutemen, you can’t expect us to try and die protecting you—especially if this is all true, and your own leader was the cause of this mess!  We need to lie low, hole up, and wait till this blows over.”

There was a full hush now, aside from the man.  Everyone was listening, watching. 

“I’m sorry,” he continued “I like the Minutemen; our family farm joined up when your new general took over.  But it’s not worth dying for.  We can’t beat the Institute.  Best we can hope for is to survive.  I’m not saying you all need to just stand and die yourselves—you can run, you should run.  But…if you think everyone here is going to pick up a gun and go out some blaze of glory with you, you’re seriously overestimating how much all of us owe you Minutemen.”

Voices rose up again as he finished.  Some agreeing, a few against, but most just talking.  Preston looked harried, he could tell he was losing them. 

While Preston tried to calm the crowd enough to be heard again, a man from the far left of the throng slipped away from his family and quietly crossed to the base of the stage on the left side.  After a second, he got Deacon’s attention, Deacon hopped down, and they conversed in low tones.  Even from a distance, it was easy to tell that whatever he said surprised Deacon; he looked around as if afraid someone else had heard, and pulled the man further away from the crowd.  As he continued to listen, Deacon’s face got very intent, focused.  Maybe even concerned.  The man finished talking, and Deacon started asking questions, still looking intense.  The man just kept shaking, and then nodding his head in response to whatever Deacon was saying.  His expression seemed set.  An odd mixture of sad, determined, and regretful.  Prepared, maybe?  No—no more like resigned.  Preston didn’t notice any of it.

“I understand that.  I know you don’t owe the Minutemen,” Preston continued, in response to a recent reiteration of an earlier speaker’s point, “Our leader—our group—we’ve let you down, but we’re trying to make it up to you—we’re trying to protect you.”

“By getting us to die with you?” It had been someone near the front speaking, and similar angry shouts joined him.

“No,” Preston pleaded, “of course not.  We’re trying to save you.  I know you don’t want to hear it, but the Institute is going to wipe the Commonwealth out.  Just think about it, about what you yourselves have seen—what you’ve been through on the way here. You know I’m right.”

They were listening again.  Personal experiences had to agree with him, at least to some extent.

“You know I’m right because you’ve seen it.” Preston’s gaze found some of the more torn up settlers in crowd.  “Some of you ran here to get out of plundered homes, escape Synth raids.  You were scared every step of the way here you weren’t runnin’ fast enough, because you know that once they go after something, they don’t stop chasing.  The Institute wants us all dead now.  I can’t undo that.  I can’t fix it.  I’m sorry.  But I will do everything I can to protect you.  And the best we can do, the best chance we can give ourselves, is to band together and beat them down.”

“That’s impossible!” A woman in the middle of the crowd countered.  She was muddy from what must have been a rough trip, and the man holding her hand was sporting a field dressing around probably a laser shot to his shoulder.  She looked more desperate than angry.  “We can’t win against them!  We’d be better off hiding and waiting this out—let them get rid of the Minutemen, get their revenge, and then hope they leave us alone.”

“Yeah,” an older man near her agreed, “we don’t know—maybe they’ll disappear again when all the big groups they’re fighting with are gone.”

“It’s a better chance for us to survive than fighting them,” the first woman added.

“You’re wrong,” Preston argued, “they aren’t going to stop this time.  Not until they have everything they want, and what they want is complete control, the freedom to do whatever they want here, no matter the cost.”

“And blood,” Deacon spoke up for the first time, stepping back onto the platform, behind Preston, the settler he’d been speaking with in tow.  “They want revenge.” 

The crowd quieted down for him.  They all knew who he was by now—the Railroad man, the last one, the one who killed Sole. 

Deacon looked out over the audience slowly, taking in faces.  “I killed Sole.  I killed him because he was a monster, and because I didn’t want the Institute to win the Commonwealth.  And mostly I killed him because he turned on my people, on the Railroad, and he killed everyone I gave a damn about.  So, you can blame me for the Institute being out for blood if you want.  Maybe I chose wrong, as far as the Commonwealth is concerned, but I don’t regret it; I’d do it again.  And I dare any one of you to say you wouldn’t have done the same, for your family.  Now that’s the choice you’re facing.  The same one I had.  Run, and hide, and let your homes fall, leave the people they’ve killed forgotten, unavenged, maybe unburied.  Keep running, knowing you might never get far enough away, well enough hidden.  Worry every night for the rest of your life that something’s gonna catch up, and you won’t wake up again.”

Deacon watched the crowd.  People.  Commonwealth people.  Old men.  Sick people, all bone and starving.  Strong women, young kids, teens who’d had to grow up too fast, fathers whose kids had gone first.  Broken and weak, but still here.  Stronger than they were weak, in a lot of ways.  Survivors, by luck or guts or nature, or by some God’s whim.  Tired and scared, angry, bitter.  Like him, like everyone he’d ever known.  He’d seen their faces in mobs, in killers, in doctors, and friends, and frozen on the cooling bodies of people he used to know.  Too many kinds of people to get to know, to understand, to believe in, or count on.  Too different to agree, to varied to predict.  But on some level, they were all of them the same.  That wasn’t always a  good thing though.  The same people could be a mob or an army, and he wasn’t the type who could make people choose which.  He glanced over at Preston, who was watching, listening intently to him like he believed every word could change the outcome on its own.  It made him want to laugh for some reason, or something.  An emotion close to that, but painful.

Deacon turned his gaze back to the crowd. “Or, you can stand and fight.”  He took a step forward, gaze shifting from person to person as he spoke.  “Maybe you win the impossible.  Who knows.  I did.  And Preston here took down a fully armed Courser with a rock, all on his own.  I’ve seen it done.  It can be done.  Because we’re the Commonwealth, and we’re not about to be taken easily.  If we were the type who went down easy, we’d have settled somewhere else in the first place.  But I want you to know what’s at stake.  And I know most of you don’t want to hear it.  Not from me anyway.  Probably you think you’ve got no real reason to believe me.  Our stakes in this are too different.”

A murmur of agreement came from the crowd. 

“Maybe so,” Deacon conceded, “maybe not. All I know is, your stakes are just as high as mine. And you deserve to really, truly know that.”  He turned to the settler behind him and motioned him forward.  “That’s why he wants to speak to you.” 

The settler moved up to the front of the stage, and Deacon stepped back, saying something almost at a whisper as he passed the man.  The man didn’t reply.  Instead, he took a few more steps and a deep breath and addressed the crowd.

“You all know me, well, most of you do—on account of our vegetable trade.”  His guess seemed right, judging by the crowd’s reaction.  “But for those of you who don’t, I’m Roger Warwick.  I live in a homestead down south, and I farm.  Have been for a long time now.  That’s my wife, June, and my daughter, Janey, and my son, Wally.”

His family watched from where he’d left them, clearly far more confused than the rest of the crowd about what was happening.  Preston looked at Deacon for answers and Deacon just gave him one short nod, as if to say it was okay.  But he didn’t look happy.

“I understand why everyone is scared,” Roger began.  “The Institute is big, and strong, and we don’t know much about them except that they can disappear, and reappear, and we can never seem to catch up with them.  And I can see how you all might believe that if we let them kill off the Minutemen and if we lie low, we’ll all be okay eventually.  But we won’t.” 

There was some disagreement in the crowd, but they were still interested in hearing what he had to say—ready to give him a chance. 

Roger took a breath and continued.  “I know this.  I know this more certainly than any of you.  Because I know they weren’t just going to let us all live our lives before.  They wouldn’t before, they certainly won’t now.”  He started to say something and his expression, something about it changed, a kind of dread.  You could almost feel the words stick in his throat.  He was scared. 

The crowd waited.  Roger tried again.  “I’m not…For the past five years, I’ve been here, living like you, with you, with a family.  I’ve been Roger Warwick.  But I’m not him.  I’m a Synth replacement.”

It was immediate chaos.  The crowd exploded, everyone talking, no one being heard.  Just hostility—clear, plain, vicious hostility in the air.  Someone in the mid-back raised a rifle, and Deacon stepped between Synth Roger and the man. 

Preston looked as shocked as everyone else.  He must have known Roger.  But he saw the shooter too, and moved in front of both Deacon and the man, looking at Deacon in question as he passed. No one but Preston could hear it, but when he passed him, Deacon said “Sorry. I think he can help.”

Preston chose to accept this, and turned to face the crowd, arms raised.  “Everyone, calm down!”

Surprisingly they did, just a bit.  The man with the rifle shifted it up so it wasn’t directly aimed at Preston, but he didn’t lower it. 

“This man is coming forward with vital information, and we will give him a chance to speak,” Preston continued. 

In the crowd, June looked almost frozen—like she was right on the edge of crying or fleeing, Janey looked shocked.  Walley was trying to get his mom and sister to answer some question, frantically tugging on their sleeves and appealing to them in turn, but no one was giving answers, or had them to give.  His mom just silently took his hand.

“Thank you,” Roger said, almost as quiet as Deacon had just been.  Then, to the crowd, he continued at full volume.  “It’s true.  I’m not Roger Warwick.  I’m his synthetic replacement.  The real Roger Warwick is dead.”

Again, the crowd had to be yelled down by Preston, but this time Roger kept fighting to be heard above them.

“I didn’t kill him, but he’s dead just the same!  We have—The Institute has—these teams, they go in, snag someone, and get as much information—as many memories and facts from a person as they possibly can.  By whatever means necessary.  And when it’s done, they get rid of the original.  And they make a machine, like me, to look like that person.  They give us training, give us memories, and they drop us back in that person’s life and leave us to fend for ourselves, checking in every so often to see how whatever project is doing—” Another boom in crowd volume made him fight twice as hard to be heard.  The crowd wasn’t ready to hear more.  “Please, listen to me!  I know how awful this is, and I know you probably want to tear me apart, but I’m trying to help you!”

The crack of a rifle echoed out over the crowd.  Everyone stopped talking and looked back.  Ronnie Shaw was holding a smoking musket, aimed at the sky.  Malloy stood next to her, looking at the older woman in surprise. 

“You all had better listen!” Ronnie looked ready to gun down the first man who smarted off to her.  “Right now, whatever you decide after this meeting, you’re in our stronghold.  You came to us to protect you—first sign of trouble, and everyone’s running to the Minutemen and the Castle for help, so don’t you get all high and mighty on us while you’re hiding in our walls.  You folks are free to do whatever you want, and we’ll still shelter you—you aren’t being made to pay or fight beside us to be here.  And if you wanna run off, hell, do it.  But while you’re here, if our new General says listen to the Institute spy, you’re going to hear him through to the end, and _then_ start your lynch mob, am I clear?”

The crowd generally found it was amenable to that.  Ronnie commanded a certain level of respect. And fear.

Ronnie turned to Malloy and held out the rifle. “Thanks.  Laser rifles just don’t make the right sound when you want attention from a crowd.”

Malloy nodded and took back her gun.  The crowd looked back at the stage.

“Thank you,” Synth Roger said quietly.  He took a breath.  “My point is.  No one knew.”  He looked out over the mass of people, eyes holding for a second on his ‘family.’  Only Walley was looking back, the other two turned away the second they saw him glance in their direction. “Not one of you.  Not even my—Roger’s—family.” 

Walley met his gaze, looking confused and worried above anything else.  Lost.

Synth Roger looked away and turned his attention back to the rest of the crowd.  “Not one of you knew, and stuff like this happens every day.  To the Institute, you’re a resource.  They don’t care about you as people, don’t value you, and they aren’t going to ‘spare’ you if you don’t fight back.  They already weren’t.  You’re ‘human resources.’  And now you’re not just a resource, because whether you fight back or not, they’re pissed off and looking for revenge.  On anyone up here.”  The man was trying to be brave.  It was tough to notice at first, over the bravado and subject, and he was presenting pretty well, but he was scared and trying not to be.  One of his hands held the other at the wrist by his side, trying to stop it from shaking.

Preston looked tense, spring-loaded.  He was trying to prepare for whatever the mob below him chose to do once the man finished, thinking a million miles an hour.  Deacon was a harder read.  He was watching Synth Roger, his face hard and expressionless, save intensity.

The tips of Roger’s hands were trembling, and as frustrated as he was, he couldn’t stop them.  He was trying to keep his arms in close, or in constant motion, to mask it.  “This mission—my—my mission,” Roger continued, trying to get his voice under control “—has been going on long before this all-out war between the Railroad, and the Brotherhood, and the Institute—before the Brotherhood even arrived in the Commonwealth. My kind of mission has always been the plan.  Because the Commonwealth is a testing ground of sorts to them.”  Something about that made him angry, more than scared.  His fingers were still trembling, but for a second he forgot. You could hear it in his voice.  “You know what my job is?  Why I was sent to replace Roger?”

The crowd waited to hear, almost quieted again as the synth on stage spoke.

“It’s testing out a kind of gardening technique,” Synth Roger continued, “I’m just an agricultural tester.  And for that insignificant little piece of information, they took this family’s dad, killed him, and,” the anger died and turned to something much quieter, “and…put me there in his place.” 

He looked up at just the wrong moment and met June’s eyes.  Roger’s wife, not his.  They both looked away.  It took just a second for him to pick up again.

“That’s not even the worst part,” he continued. “When they’re done, they’re going to…to scorched-earth the place—destroy all traces of their ‘experiment.’  The farm, the plants, my—” he caught himself and corrected, “the whole family.” 

He risked a glance at his fake wife again.  This time her eyes met his intentionally, but they were full of horror. 

Roger looked at the ground for a second again, then back up at his wife.  “I’m not good.  I know.  I’ve been endangering the closest thing I’ve ever had to a real family since the day I met them, and I’ve been impersonating their real father.  I stole his life.  I didn’t even know him.”

Preston watched him continue.  He’d known the man he had thought was Roger Warwick.  Strange, to think about all that now.  He’d never met the real one.  He was trying to follow this man’s words, to wonder what it would have been like from his perspective.  What it would have meant. 

Roger was still watching June, afraid to look away as he continued. “I’m sorry.  I didn’t ask to be what I am.  I didn’t have a choice.  But neither did he.  And he died so I could be part of a gardening experiment.  The…”  He fought back something and finally broke eye contact with June.  It took him a few seconds to keep going.  “I’ve been—June, Janey, Walley.  I know I’m not your husband, your dad.  But that’s what I’ve pretended to be for years now, and somewhere along the way I started to believe part of it was real—I mean—I’m not your family, I know, but you are—you were mine, and I’ve been—I want you to know I kept—I’ve been thinking, trying to think of some way to get out of this, to get you out of it, to take you all and run, to the Capital wasteland or something, but there was never a real chance.  I know how relentless they are, how they hunt people down.  We all learn that in the Institute, first thing.  How futile it is to run, or to fight, to disagree.  And every chance of escape I could think of ended with them hunting us down and burning everything to the ground.  Until now.”  He finally made himself look back over at them.  June wasn’t looking at him this time, but Janey was.  It seemed like maybe she believed him—or like she wanted to.

It was hard to gauge how exactly the crowd was taking this. No more guns were raised, but it was a difficult thing for most people in the Commonwealth to sympathize with, synth replacements.  Most of them had likely lost someone, or knew someone who had, or lost too much sleep fearing it would be them next.

Roger kept going, addressing the crowd as a whole this time.  “The Institute is off balance.  They’re rushing headlong into a fight, and we’ve got a chance to beat them.  For the first time…god, ever,” Roger continued.  “I know I’m a synth, but however you feel about my kind, you should know they’re not all like me, always waiting too long for the right moment to act.  A lot of us run away.  I heard stories of the Railroad, I almost tried—” He looked at Deacon, then back to the crowd.  “Regardless.  I don’t expect you to trust me, or help me,” he looked at his wife, “or forgive me.  But please, listen to me, believe this.  This is the first real chance the Commonwealth has ever had to fight back, and if you let them wipe out the Minutemen, it’s just going to be more of the same.  People disappearing, all too friendly versions of someone you love suddenly appearing, and every night you’re afraid to go to bed with them across the hall, frozen grin pasted to their face even in sleep, and then one day you wake up and the house is engulfed in flames because whatever experiment you were unwittingly apart of is over and you’ve just become a side note in a report, a piece of collateral damage.”

At least they were definitely all listening now.  Everyone.  Even his family.

Roger paused for a long moment, eyes sweeping the crowd.  “I want to stay and fight—and I will if you let me, although I doubt after all this anyone’s going to trust me with a rifle in my hands.  If you want, lock me up, throw me out, kill me if that’s what it takes,” his voice faltered a little.  “But I finally have a chance to save my—this family.  We all have a shot, to end this.  And it’s the only one we’re going to get to end it in our favor.  In anyone’s favor but the Institute’s.  So please.  Please don’t wait too long.  Don’t miss the chance.”  He stopped, clearly hoping for some indication.

After a few seconds, a woman in the crowd spoke up.  “How do we know they didn’t just want him to tell us that, so we all go fight and get wiped out?  Save them the trouble of hunting us down?”

The rest of the crowd didn’t join in, overwhelming each other with voices like before, but they turned with her to watch him for a response, all looking for the answer to the same question. 

“It would make no sense for him to be lying.  If he’s doing what the Institute’s wants, why would he not just tell you all to run away, and let the Institute win an easy victory?” Deacon countered, speaking up for the first time since Roger had taken the stage.  “Even if you believe we’re going to lose either way, this would definitely be what they’d call the hard way.  Way more losses for them. They’d have to be stupid.”

 “He has a point,” another woman near the first spoke up.  “Maybe the synth’s not lying.”

“Maybe they don’t care about their own losses, maybe they just want us all dead!” the first woman shot back.

“Isn’t wanting us all dead exactly why we should fight them?” Chase countered.  A few of the Minutemen around him nodded.

“We can’t trust anything a Synth tells us,” an old farmer snapped back. “It’s only gonna lie!”

“Please!  I know I’m not human, but I have enough humanity in me not to want the only people who have ever been good to me to die,” Roger said, “I don’t know what else to say to convince you, but I’m telling the truth!”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Preston, slowly, like he was completing the thought himself.  The evenness of his tone managed to prevail over the tension in the crowd, and they watched him. 

He continued uninterrupted, all eyes on him. 

“If he’s lying, and this is some elaborate ruse of theirs to get us all at once, it’d be proof they want us all dead.  And they just want to make it easy.”  Preston moved forward, towards the edge of the platform, leaving Synth Roger and Deacon a few steps behind. 

Deacon watched him, unblinking.  Preston glanced back and saw him, and flashed him a smile.  Deacon hadn’t realized or meant to, but he must have looked worried, because Preston was trying to reassure him.

_Stupid, I’m not the one with high stakes here.  Don’t worry about me.  Think about yourself, about them._

Deacon focused on keeping his expression neutral, but he’d thought it had been before.  Preston looked back at the crowd.

“But I believe him,” Preston continued, “four years with a family could change anyone.  And he’s got no reason to lie to us.  If he was really working for the Institute and they wanted us dead, about 500 ways he could get us killed easier than trying to talk us into staying and fighting by telling us he’s a Synth.  We’re all sharing a water supply.  Be real easy to poison that.  Wipe out every last one of us.  Start a fire where we’re storing the explosives, let other Institute spies in as refugees by claiming to know them.  This would have to be the stupidest infiltration plan ever.  There’s no way he’s lying for them.”

He was right, it made sense, and they all knew it.

“So, if he’s not lying for the Institute,” Preston continued, “either he’s telling the truth, or he’s lying for himself, and there’s no way he’s doing that either, because no matter what he wants—his family, caps, freedom, a future, hell, even to just keep on being alive?  All that telling us he’s a synth is likely to do is to make him lose him everything he has, and get him killed.  The only thing that makes sense is if he’s telling the truth.”

It got very quiet.  Everyone thought that through, looking for loopholes, flaws.  There was some very quiet murmuring.  Roger looked something between pained and hopeful.  June and Janey seemed to be thinking it through harder than anyone else present.  Roger noticed, and then forced himself not to stare at them, not daring to hope. 

“I don’t trust the synth, but the new General makes a good point,” The woman near the front who’d been so against him spoke up again.  “If it’s supposed to be a good fake Roger, I guess it could accidentally get too attached to his family.  Seems like screwing up and making a machine that’d betray them is the kind of fool mistake the Institute might make. But that don’t mean we should fight.”

“She’s right,” a man across the crowd added, “we can’t win a fight like that.”

“Maybe not,” it was an older man who spoke this time, “but what choice have we got?  My family had a farm until yesterday, when we were attacked by a Synth raid.  We didn’t do anything to provoke them.  They just came, like they always do.  I’ve already lost my home, my farm.  Everything but what we’re carrying.  One of my boys is badly wounded, and we were lucky to make it out alive.  I for one am not going to keep running.  The Commonwealth is ours.  Ours and our families for generations.  Our blood. The rest of you can do whatever the hell you want, but I’ll be damned if I just let the Institute take what’s mine without a fight.”

“We fight, we die,” a man in the crowd wearing a doctor’s coat said quietly.  “You’ve at least still got your lives.  You lost everything else last time, if you fight again, you won’t even get away with that.”

“No,” Preston said. His voice was calm.  And again, that calmness caught their attention and held it.  The crowd looked up at him. “We can win this,” Preston continued, “the Institute is off balance.  They’re rushing headlong into a fight they don’t expect to be described as anything but a massacre, but we’ve got a chance to beat them.  A real chance.  For the first time in the Commonwealth’s history.”  He looked over the crowd.  “I get it.  And you’re right.  You’re right to be afraid.  This is big, and people are gonna die.  But you’re also right to be mad, and to want to fight.  You’re right.  It isn’t fair, none of this.  We spend our whole lives on this hunk of rock and dirt and ash, carving out a living, and the Institute thinks they can just blow the lives we’ve built away from us, like we were nothing.  Like we didn’t earn it.  But we did.  Every single one of you here today did.  We carved out a living on these rocks, and we made this wasteland our home.”

They were watching, Deacon could tell, because Preston was right, and because  Preston believed in it—in them, their cause.  He was with them, and they could _feel_ it.  Could know it, believe it.

Preston was looking out over the crowd like he had, seeing the same faces.  Deacon wondered if he saw the same things.  If he saw mobs, and the faces of dead friends in the same people.  He didn’t think so, watching the other man.  Every time Preston met eyes with someone, it felt like he was remembering them.  Somehow seeing each person in the crowd and committing them to his memory, memorializing each one as their own, like just them being there was enough to make them worth remembering forever.  Like he couldn’t promise to protect them, or save them, or that they’d be one of the ones to make it, but he saw them, really saw them, and that made them real.  It made their outcome matter.

“They don’t think they have to be afraid of us,” Preston continued, “because they think we’re weak.  A mess.  We’re dirty, tired, worn-down.  We don’t have their technology, and we’re inexperienced, disorganized, injured, afraid.  We’re too old, too young, too sick, too few, and maybe we are.  But what they don’t know living down there safe underground is that each one of you here today earned it.  Every day of your life you’ve been training for this, training to protect your land, your families, your own lives.  And it wasn’t easy.  Not one day of it.  You’ve been fighting since the day you were born, and they don’t have that. They never will.  And that’s what makes us strong.”

Preston watched the people in the crowd as he spoke.  He knew some of them already, some he didn’t.  He kept praying he’d see hope on their faces.  So many of them, so many families, so many people he might never meet.  He hadn’t been in charge of a group of anything like this size since Quincy.  And that made him sick.  He could still see the faces of the first few settlers who’d been lost back then, before they’d had a chance to meet.  The ones he’d helped to bury, but never spoken to.  He’d always wondered who they’d been, thought of a thousand things that could have gone different. He wanted things to be different this time, to not lose anyone here, but he knew no matter how much he tried, some of them were going to die. And that was terrible.  He didn’t know how people could stand to be leaders.  What if felt like to look someone in the eye and ask them to fight beside you, and know you might never see them again.  He didn’t want anyone to die, he wanted to protect them all.  But he was right, they had to fight, and the people were safer together.  And they could win.  They could, together.  They had to.  They had to live, he had to see them live, he wasn’t going to lose everyone again.  He was never going to lose everyone again.  He couldn’t.  And maybe that would kill him.  But that’d be okay.  It seemed to him that dying like that would be fair, right.  It’d be a relief, getting to know you’d paid the price too, for what you were asking everyone else to do.  It sounded like peace, maybe.  He hoped it was. 

His eyes landed on an old man, a young girl, an injured ghoul.  He could see it in their eyes, how much they’d already fought to get here.  Maybe, maybe things could be different.  He wanted them to win, they deserved to win.  And he was ready to do whatever it took.

“We’re young, we’re old, we’re disorganized, and we are tough as the land we’ve grown up on,” Preston continued, “We’re tougher, we’ve had to be, not just to survive, but to find a way to live.  And we aren’t gonna give that up because some high and mighty monster from the stories we’ve been told since we were kids decided it would take us down.  Haven’t we always been fighting monsters?  And so far, we’ve all won.  They have technology we don’t, maybe numbers we don’t too, but they don’t know how to fight like us.  And they don’t know how to survive, to adapt, they don’t know the Commonwealth, and that’s why we’re not gonna lose it.  We shouldn’t give it up, we fought for it.  It’s our home.  We’re a bunch of tough as nails rabble forged out of the ground we stand on, and as long as we’ve that home turf advantage, as long as we stand together, there’s no way in hell we’re gonna lose it.  It’s not in our nature.”

He paused, almost out of breath.  His passion had ebbed into the words, more righteous than angry, and in that moment of silence he looked out over the sea of people he would live or die with in the next 24 hours and hoped.

“You can run, I won’t stop you,” Preston said finally.  “But I believe in you.  In what we can do, together.  And I am asking you to stay, and fight alongside me, because I know we can win.  I know we can, because I know you, I know all of us—we’re the Commonwealth.  And I believe in that.”  He stopped, watching the crowd, shoulders square, silent for a second before he finished.  “Do you?”

They were silent for a moment.  Deacon was afraid, watching Preston’s expression, that he would lose his confidence in them, that his face would fall, but it didn’t.  He just waited, hoping, maybe even believing. 

“I’m with you.”  One of the teenagers, somewhere near the back of the crowd, took a step forward.  A few of the other teens near him nodded and moved forward with him.

“So are we.”  The matriarch of a group from down south spoke up for her family.

 “Agreed,” called a woman near her. Another woman stepped up beside the first and took her arm, nodding.

“Let’s give them hell,” a ghoul girl shouted, raising her musket in the air.  A score of ghouls and around her matched the cheer, guns raised.

“Our land, let them try and take it!” cried a man in the back.  One by one, and then suddenly all at once, there were more voices, and more, each making the one before them barely intelligible, until the entire crowd was shouting.  Filling the air with agreement and fury, happiness, and passion, and hope, and it all rose like a tidal wave, engulfing everyone.  Until they weren’t just a mass of angry farmers, shopkeeps, workers, and traders; they were a unified body of people, a chunk of the Commonwealth.  A chunk that was going to dig their heels into the earth that was theirs and rip the Institute to pieces before giving it an inch of their home. 

Preston let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, and a smile spread unconsciously across his face. 

Deacon watched him, and for a moment he almost smiled too.  Almost.  Deacon wrapped the checkered scarf a little tighter around his neck and felt the warm feeling sink inside him until it was dark and cold.

_Heart._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you a lot for the comment! I'm glad to see it enjoyed. It means a lot.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick's party puts their plan into action, but not everything goes according to keikaku (translator's note: keikaku means "plan").

Chapter 16

 

Cait braced herself against a the vertibird’s wall and fought the urge to whoop as Haylen turned the engines on the bird and started to raise the machine.  She liked flying, a lot.  Damn stealth missions taking the loud part of the fun out of it.

“Okay, everyone—we’re off. Get ready,” Haylen called from the front.

The gunners took up their positions—Fahrenheit and Danse at the big machine guns strapped into the floors on each side.  Cait braced herself in place beside Fahrenheit, kneeling on the floor, gun raised.  She saw MacCready doing the same behind Danse, already scanning the terrain below him through his rifle scope. 

These things were fast, it wasn’t going to be a long flight.

True to her expectations, the Commonwealth moved past and they were in the city shortly.  Cait had been in vertibirds before a few times, but as they approached the city Haylen gripped the stick and brought the bird low—only about twenty feet off the ground—and started maneuvering around buildings at speed.  That—that was new.

Cars weren’t really a thing in the Commonwealth, but Cait’d been on a motorcycle before a couple years back, and this was far more like that than flying.  She felt a sudden pressure on her shoulders and looked up to see Curie holding onto her and leaning over her to get a look out at the city.  Somehow, the synth—robot—whatever—looked like she was seeing snow for the first time or something.  Sure, Cait was having fun, but even she was in the mission headspace that came with holding a loaded gun and knowing you were about to be firing on someone else who had one too.

Curie looked down at Cait, feeling her eyes on her as Cait looked up, and she grinned and let go of one of Cait’s shoulders to wave.

Fahrenheit looked down at them both and shook her head.  She smiled and trained her gun on tower coming up fast beside them.

“There it is, boys and girls,” Fahrenheit called out over the turbines, “Mass Fusion.”

“I’m ready for approach,” Haylen shouted back, gripping the controls fiercely.

“Okay,” Fahrenheit shouted, looking around her at all the others.  “We go in, we have to get this done—it’s our only shot.  Nick, you ready?”

He nodded at her.  She gave a nod back in confirmation.

“Alright.” Fahrenheit turned her attention back to the gun in her hands.  “Punch it!”

Haylen did.

The craft spun right and shot between the husks of two buildings until it almost slammed into the side of Mass Fusion.  Haylen tore back on the controls with all her might, forcing the machine steady, and the vertibird shot upwards.  Cait felt the pit of her stomach drop at the rapid ascent.  She braced her gun solidly against her knee, took half a breath, and held it.

As the vertibird shot upwards, Cait heard gunshots before she saw anyone.  She felt the bird jerk from the force as something slammed the hull on Danse’s side, and he opened fire, drowning out any nose except the engines themselves with the explosive storm of bullets firing from his heavy weapon.  Cait looked over her shoulder and in the frame of the outside she could see past Danse’s hulking suit she saw steams of blue energy shoot past, most flying wide, and then then the vertibird came level with the rooftop and spun, landing uneven and skidding—for a second she thought they were going to flip.  The craft impacted something and Cait almost fell out of the opening in the machine’s side, and then there was gunfire.

Fahrenheit was firing full blast, bullets ricocheting off of the rooftop and the synths around them, exploding and catching the surroundings on fire as she jumped down from the vertibird to the roof itself.

It was chaos.  The kind of fight were there’s too much going on at once and either time slows, or you only remember it as a jumble of sound and light and sweat and intensity.  Cait leapt off the bird after Fahrenheit, and into a stream of energy blasts.  She made a running slide behind a fan and shot half blindly into the crowd of machines gathered on the roof. 

Back on the vertibird, MacCready moved to Cait’s former position and took cover behind the wall, trying to get his bearings through the movement and smoke.  Danse was still close, carving a path, Fahrenheit lighting up the rooftop in the other direction.  He saw Cait near the bird, under cover.  As far as he could see, there were something like fifty synths up here, and a group in the middle seemed to be carrying something rather large together.

“Nick,” MacCready called, indicating with his head that the man should come look. Nick moved into place beside him, and MacCready gestured to the synths in the center, holding their package.  “We gotta get you to swap with one of those. Can you make it?”

It was a good question.  There were a lot of synths between here and there.  Nick nodded and then looked behind himself.  MacCready followed the look and noticed Curie—he’d completely forgotten she was there.

“Come on,” Nick said, holding out a hand to Curie, who took it, “The bird is starting to smoke, you ought to both get off in case.”

MacCready stuck his head out of the side of the craft long enough to get a quick look at where fuselage connected to the engine.  Nick was right, they were pretty fucked.

“Welp,” MacCready said, standing up. “You make a good point.”  He hopped out of the vertibird and dove behind a fan across from the one Cait was blind firing from. Nick followed close on his heels.

“Come on, Madame Haylen,” Curie called, hopping out after Nick.  “You do not want to become exploded by the bird.”

“Yeah, I know—Go on!” Haylen called back.  As Curie vanished after Nick, Haylen climbed out the far side of the craft and was lost to view.

“Danse and Fahrenheit are drawing a lot of fire—I think I can draw you a path,” MacCready said as soon as Nick his cover beside him.  “Gotta be fast though. Or one of us might hit you by accident.”

In front of them, Fahrenheit’s barrage of bullets hit one of the synths helping to defend the package near the middle of the roof.

“Go!” they heard her shout back at them from over the ceaseless emptying of energy casings.

“Oi, can you make that?” Cait called across the gap to Nick, letting loose a string of bullets into a synth who’d gotten a little too close to her.

“I expect so,” Nick replied, taking a not too enthusiastic look at the battlefield before ducking behind cover again.  “Give me a second,” he said to MacCready.

MacCready leveled his rifle and took a shot, hitting a synth in the neck and downing it.  He took two more shots, blowing the legs off a unit approaching form their left.  He heard the pop of Curie’s little laser pistol going off beside him.

As they fired, Nick took off his trench coat, and then carefully removed his face from the synth frame underneath.  It was a kind of horrifying experience for MacCready to watch, but after he made the mistake of glancing over, he couldn’t make himself look away.  It was like watching someone peel their skin off.  He shuddered involuntarily and took a shoot at one of the synths in the crowd to try and cover his discomfort while Nick folded the face into his trench coat.  When MacCready looked back, Nick looked like any one of the synths before them.

Nick handed MacCready the trench coat, who took it and looked at it awkwardly, then shoved it in his bag.  “You, uh,” MacCready looked back into the crowd of synths, “Really might accidentally get shot.  I know we agreed not to fire at the target group once you went out, but that’s pretty convincing.”

“Think you can fake a hit once I’m close to the one Fahrenheit took down?” Nick asked, completely ignoring the potential of being killed by one of his friends.

“Yeah—that’s a good idea.  I’ll clip you. Go down, copy the info you need, then pull yourself back up and join the others.  I’ll watch, so when you’re there I can tell the others to pull back.”  MacCready looked away from the barrel of his rifle to study Valentine’s face.  He was intent, watching the synths before him.  It was odd—he shouldn’t have looked at all like Nick anymore, but somehow he did.  It was like recognizing a friend’s face underneath a mask.  “Uh,” MacCready hesitated, “Nick—You sure you want to do this?”

Valentine turned his head to look at him and smiled.  There was no skin to move, so MacCready didn’t realize it until he spoke, but when he did the smile was in his voice.  “I’m positive.  Ready when you are.”

 _Crazy do-gooder bastard,_ MacCready thought.  He leveled his rifle, took a breath, and held it. “Okay, go for it.”

Valentine was out of cover almost before MacCready finished speaking.  The closest few synths saw him and fired, recognizing he wasn’t one of their own.

“Cover him!” By the time MacCready’s words were out, they already were.  From the right, Cait was carving a path, and Curie was trying to hit anything nearby which turned to look.

Valentine took a bullet to the shoulder and kept going, heading dead for the group in the middle. He was fast; MacCready almost couldn’t keep up. As the man duck and wove past adversaries, it was a struggle to constantly keep him in sight so someone was keeping track of which one not to shoot.

Valentine broke the circle around whatever their big target object was, almost on top of the body Fahrenheit had downed, and MacCready shot him in the back.

 _Damn I’m good,_ MacCready thought smugly as he saw Nick pitch forward onto the other synth. _Right through the casing, just missing his core components. It looked like a killshot, barely even scratched him._

He kept his scope on Nick’s form, waiting for the telltale sign of movement.  There was none. As the seconds dragged on painfully from three to twelve, he started to sweat.  _Shit, I did miss him, I know I did, oh shit I sure think I did anyway. Shit. God damn it Nick, get up already, I really hate this. Why did I even come. I know I made that shot—it was a great shot. I totally didn’t hit him. I—Oh thank GOD there he is._

Nick was up. If MacCready hadn’t been so hyperfixated, he probably would have lost track of which one he was.

“Hey!” MacCready shouted over the din of lasers and metal on metal.  He saw Fahrenheit’s head snap in his direction.  “Exit strategy?”

She got it.  _Thank god. Someone with a brain._ MacCready absently took a potshot at a nearby Synth and downed it.

“Fall back!” Fahrenheit called, her voice easily booming past the fight to reach the rest of her companions. “To the bird!”

As she retreated, Danse did the same—both of them shooting wildly into the mess of synths, careful to keep from hitting any near the core where they knew Nick had to be. 

The synths watched them, and then as one all of them turned towards MacCready and he felt the pit of his stomach drop.

“Oi, what?” Cait called across from her cover. “They looking at us?”

He saw one of them aim for the already damaged engine.

“OH SHI—CRAP!” MacCready shouted, mind temporarily blanking on a better warning call as he launched himself at Curie and flung the two of them as far from the vertibird as he could, landing on top of her and trying to shield his head with his arms as the massive explosion behind him flung burning debris over the him.

As he looked out under his arms, trying to get his bearings through the burning wreckage, he was vaguely aware of Cait off to his right under some pipes. “Yeah!” she shouted over the roar of the flames and his ringing ears, “shit’s fucked!”

“Are we dead?” asked Curie from beneath him.

He had forgotten about her, and rolled to the side to let her up, staying on the ground and as behind cover as possible. “No, not dead,” he said too loud, ears still trying to rebalance his perception of sound.

Curie started to sit up, and a laser blast just past her ear made her think better of it. She turned her head to ask him something, and her eyes got wide.

MacCready followed her horrified gaze down to his leg. 

_Ah fuck._

There was a huge chunk of still-glowing metal embedded in the side of his right thigh. He’d been completely unaware of the injury, but the second his eyes took it in, his brain lost the ability to pretend pain wasn’t an issue. He choked back something between a curse and a scream and it came out as a mangled sound like a dying animal might make. He rolled onto his back and brought his hands to the piece of metal, burning his fingertips on contact. Blood was leaking past the chunk of debris at a worrying rate and soaking his pant leg. MacCready bit down on his lip and tried to keep from screaming, but the urge was almost impossible to fight.

“Don’t pull it out!” Curie cried, crawling over to him. In the background, he was vaguely aware of Fahrenheit and Danse’s voices.  “You’ve nicked an artery—you’ll cut it open if you try to dislodge that, and you will bleed out faster!”

“Well what would you suggest,” he asked, the panic in his voice coming out more like anger than he meant it to. “The metal’s still half-molten, I can cauterize it.”

She shook her head at him as she made it to his side. “You should not cauterize an artery. It can be sutured temporarily by a professional, but you need proper care or you will die.”

“Cure,” he grabbed her arm with one of his bloody, burnt hands, “we’re in the middle of a firefight on a rooftop and our med evac helicopter just blew up! There is no professional proper care! Stimpack me!”

She pulled out a stimpack and gave the chunk of metal a worried look. “We will have to time this. Stimpacks do not replace the lost blood for you.”

He was already feeling woozy. “Curie, for Christ’s sake, please.”

“The hell are you two doing!?” Cait had taken a break from pot shots at the nearby synths to look over.

“He needs medical attention!” Curie called back.

“Then do it!” Cait fired into the swarm of synths again and her clip clicked—empty. She pulled a spare from her bag and ducked behind cover to reload. “We gotta get off this damn roof ‘n I can’t hold them forever!”

“I need another set of hands,” Curie called back, sounding desperate.

MacCready looked at her panicking face and then his leg. _Oh for…_ He reached up and put his hand on her shoulder. “Curie, Curie listen to me. You’ll do fine, okay? I can pull it out. Just tell me when.”

She shook her head. “No, I will have to do it. If you pull from that angle, it will cut into the artery. Here.” The worry of a moment before was replaced by an intense focus. She grabbed a piece of concrete rubble from the ground and handed it to him, then pulled off her belt and held that out to him as well.  “Grab the stone, put the belt in your mouth to bite down on so you do not bite through your tongue.”

He nodded and bit down on the belt. MacCready could feel his heartbeat. Irregular. Too loud. And his vision was getting blurry.

Cure tore off her flannel and wrapped her hands in it, then grabbed the piece of metal. She cried out as the intensely hot debris burned through the flannel and into the skin on her hands, but she kept steady and pulled. MacCready couldn’t keep back the yell as she tore the metal free of his leg and an incredible wave of pain accompanied the burning as it tore out of his leg.

His vision went mostly dark and blotchy. MacCready was faintly aware of a needle plunging into his leg.

“Oi,” Cait called over, looking sincerely worried this time. “Is he okay?”

Curie nodded as she wrapped what was left of her flannel tightly around the mid-healing wound. “But I think he is unconscious.”

“How do we get him off the roof?” Cait called back, letting another burst of bullets fly past. As she did, Fahrenheit rounded the far corner of her cover and slid into place beside her.

“Situation?” Fahrenheit asked, reloading.

“Bird’s fucked. MacCready’s down but alive.” Cait took a shot and ducked behind the vents again.

Haylen leapt over the chunk of wall MacCready and Curie were behind, and a few seconds later Danse backed into it as well, firing into the crowd as he went before taking a knee in the relative safety of their cover.

“We’re pinned down here,” Haylen said, lining up a shot. “What’s our exit strategy with no vertibird?”

“We never had one,” Fahrenheit replied, voice hard. Haylen went a little bit paler, but kept her expression level.

Danse looked around.

“Weren’t they supposed to teleport home once we stopped attacking?” MacCready asked weakly, eyes still shut and teeth gritted in pain.

“I thought you were unconscious!” Curie exclaimed happily.

“They did, but only the core group,” replied Fahrenheit. “The ones with whatever it was they were grabbing, including Nick. Since then, more and more have been relaying _in._ ”

“No chance making it past them for the stairs then, I’m guessing?” Cait replied. She lit a Molotov cocktail and chucked it into the crowd.

“None,” Fahrenheit replied, watching the fire explode over a group of four synths near them.

“Then what,” MacCready asked. “Someone bring a Fat Man? Because otherwise I seriously doubt we’re making it off the roof.”

“If we shot off a Fat Man here, everyone on the roof including us would be dead,” Fahrenheit replied, annoyed.

“Are we going to die here?” Curie took aim and shot into the crowd, hitting one and wincing sympathetically on instinct.

“We can try and make and opening to run past them,” suggested Haylen. “There’s an elevator inside there—”

“We’d never make that,” Fahrenheit interrupted, “There’s at least fifty and they keep calling more. Besides, they’d cut the cable on us.”

“So just keep shooting?” Cait asked. “I’m kinda running low on ammunition at this point, and fun as this is—”

“We jump,” said Danse.

They all turned to look at him.

“I’m sorry, we what?” Haylen asked.

Danse gestured at his power armor. “The hydraulics frame can take a fall from nearly any height.”

“Yeah, jackass, we ain’t all wearin’ ‘em!” Cait shot back. A collection of blasts from the synths took out a chunk of the vent she was crouched behind.

“It doesn’t have very strong weight restrictions. If you fit, it works,” Danse replied, calm. “So long as it’s the frame’s legs that hit the ground, it could support all of our weight. Probably.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Fahrenheit asked, gaping at him. “While you, what, carry us all.” She looked at his expression. “No, no! No way!”

A few of the synths made it past Haylen and Cait’s cover fire and cleared the vent. Fahrenheit knifed one, spun around and disarmed the second before tearing its head off with her bare hands, and shot a third behind her blind with a sidearm before the fourth one managed to hit her in the back with a blast from its laser pistol, leaving a smoking dent in Fahrenheit’s armor. Cait put a bullet in the fourth synth’s head and Haylen took out a fifth.

“They just keep coming,” Haylen called over. “There are some on your right trying to flank behind, watch yourselves.”

“I can’t believe I’m the one saying it, but what other choice do we have?” MacCready asked. They all heard the crack of another relay grenade announcing the arrival of twelve more synths.

Cait peeked over the vent at them. “They’ve got grenades.”

“Great,” said Fahrenheit, turning to Danse. “I love this plan. I’m happy to be a part of it. Let’s go.”

She took off and slid the gap between the vents and the partial wall, Cait doing the same right behind her. Danse knelt and Fahrenheit climbed onto his back. Cait climbed on behind Fahrenheit, trying to grip his right shoulder. Haylen awkwardly tried to hang off of Fahrenheit and his other shoulder. Danse scooped up Curie in one arm and the wounded MacCready bride-style in the other.

“This is fucking crazy,” Fahrenheit sound through gritted teeth as Danse braced himself to stand. “Can you do it?”

“I can,” Danse said, sounding determined. “Everyone hold on. Once I take off, I won’t be able to stop or we’ll all get shot.”

“Giddyup cowboy,” Cait said, choosing to indulge in the flooring adrenaline rush instead of the rational rush of fear she’d just been hit with.

Danse took off full tilt, gunshots whizzing past them. A lucky blast hit Cait in the shoulder and she reeled backwards, but Fahrenheit caught her and held on, pulling her back up one-handed and locking her arm around Cait’s waist.

As they came up on the edge of the roof, Danse hesitated for just a second to pick a landing spot and MacCready looked out over the edge ten feet ahead. “God help my little broken body,” he whispered.

Danse closed the last ten feet and leapt.

They all screamed. The feeling of leaping off a skyscraper on the back of a man in power armor isn’t something that can properly be described, but there was a moment in the arc from the roof before Danse lost momentum and they plunged towards the ground several hundred feet below that it hit every one of them that they were holding onto the back of a 6”4’ man in a single battle damaged suit of power armor leaping off of a skyscraper and no matter how good hydraulics scientists were, they were about to fall several hundred feet and depend on that man’s 300 year old patented leg armor to keep them from becoming pancakes on impact and it just didn’t feel like such a convincing argument.

As the leap’s momentum gave out, the group hung in the air for just a second, Danse determined, everyone else terrified, and then gravity took its natural course and they plunged towards the waiting concrete nearly 1,000 feet below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a couple of weeks. I'm definitely continuing and finishing this work and I have the story outline done (have since I started), life's just been some kinda way. I didn't spend as much time editing as usual because I wanted to get this out as soon as possible, so apologies for random mistakes. Hopefully they're funny. (Also, another Piper-centric chapter soon).
> 
> -Rose


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Piper remembers some things she wants to forget. The group reaches the Mayor's office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for this chapter? Obviously there's already been a lot of mature themes in the psychological trauma and physical violence realms, and it's not more graphic or intense than before, but this chapter does have some self-harm and intense issues referenced, so better safe than sorry. I hope you enjoy the chapter, and thank you so much for the support. It truly means the world.

Chapter 17

 

“Preston, I’ll be fine, really—I just need a little time.  One night.”  Piper closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the door.  There was a pause, then she heard the voice on the other side.

“Okay, Piper.”  Preston’s voice was weary and quiet.  She didn’t hear footsteps, though.  After a few seconds, he spoke again.  “You know, you don’t have to do this.”

“I do.”  Her answer was so fast it almost cut him off.  “For everyone.  I know—…I know that what I’m doing is right.  Or it’s wrong, but it’s what has to be done, so…”  Her fingernails bit into her palm, even through the gloves she wore. 

She was glad he couldn’t see her.  The night outside was dark, overcast, but not yet storming.  Inside, the light of a few candles was all she had to see by.  Even so, the door between them was invaluable in that moment.

“I just.  I’d really like a night alone to think before I do.  One last time, to…to just be by myself.  Okay?”  She could feel the pain in her chest, aching to escape her.  She grit her teeth and willed it to stay inside her, desperately fighting.  Fighting to keep it down.  “If he shows up…can you just keep him away?  Just this once?”

“Of course Piper.  I promise—no matter what.”  She could hear it in his voice too.  “I’m…I’m sorry.”

He didn’t know what to say. She was glad now, too, that she couldn’t see him either.  She could hear the cracks in him, splintering along, ready to shatter.  She didn’t want to see it.  It would be like looking in a mirror, and she might finally break. 

“I know, Preston.”  Her voice was low and scratchy, like the wind whispering through a field.  Only somehow, it was a dark sound.  “I’m sorry too.  Thank you.”

Thank you.  She needed him, and he needed her.  But it wasn’t going to be enough.  Still, without him, the impossible would be more—it would be unthinkable, insurmountable.  No, alone—it would be alone.

For some reason, it’s easier to die when there is someone with you.

“Good night, Piper.”  Pain in his voice.  She wondered if he had any idea what this night was to her.

“Goodnight.” 

Piper heard the footsteps disappearing into the night outside, and turned to let her back rest against the wall, slowly slumping into a heap on the floor.  She tucked her knees up to her chest and folded her arms, burying her head in them.

Her last night.

She and Preston had talked about it, about him, a lot.  Sole had changed.  He had become something neither of them could even understand.  To Piper, it was like he wasn’t even human.  He was something now that the old Sole would have considered a monster.  And yet, he felt no guilt.  No remorse, no shame. No blame.  He still came home to her as if nothing had happened.  As if she wouldn’t even care.

At first she had tried to talk him out of it, to bring Blue back.  She’d spent hours and hours debating, and condemning, crying, pleading, doing anything she could think of. It had been a waste. Blue was long gone.  God, had he ever been real?

That wasn’t the worst of it, even.  It was the realization that he wasn’t going to change back.  This…thing living with them, he was here to stay.  And he couldn’t. be. stopped.

The Institute, all of their incredible military power.  Their synths, and Coursers, their weapons, their reach.  They were all behind him.  He had become an unstoppable tide of death, which had already decided the fate of the Commonwealth as if it was an insignificant bug.  A part of a story which could be rewritten into a thousand different endings, with no consequences. For fun.  Words that could be deleted and forgotten, without remorse.

He was going to play god.  Nothing she did could stop him.  He was going to do it—become the god of this Commonwealth, and destroy anything in his way.  It wasn’t even mercilessness, or maliciousness—it was that he really, truly didn’t believe it was wrong. He didn’t believe that it mattered.  God, he was so sure what he was doing was the right path to take, just because it was his own.

And his old friends? They had only two options, and both of them were to die.

They could fight him.  Make a heroic last stand, guns blazing, souls free of regret, lives their own, and die with countless others, but as themselves. 

Or.

Or they could stay with Sole.  Smile, laugh, be his friends.  Tell him they still loved him, back his plays. They could stay loyal to him blindly, and in so doing preserve as much of the Commonwealth as possible.  With the little influence she still had, she could try to persuade him to only kill those truly, directly against him, convince him the Commonwealth was not the enemy—just another place for him to walk like a god, doing what he wanted and taking what he would. 

To save what they could.  And die to themselves.

And that—that was what she’d chosen.  Not a future for herself—but a death—a long, horrible, unimaginably lasting death, years upon years of living as something she wasn’t.  Becoming what Sole wanted.  Unreal.  Just a piece in his game.  She would do it so that the Commonwealth—some small fragments of it—could still have a future.

To Preston, that wasn’t the equation yet. There were things he didn’t know—that she hadn’t told him.  Why should she?  Wasn’t she enough—why did Preston have to know everything and live with it, when it would only make all of this worse and give him the same choice she was being faced with.  As long as he had hope, he could live his life and be Preston.  She knew he was miserable, and worried, but he didn’t realize how futile it was. How different Sole had become.  How over everything was, and that they’d already lost.  Now, it was only a matter of how to surrender.  And Preston was another fragment she might be able to save.

 _I’m mourning._ Piper thought to herself. _I’m in mourning. Over someone I still have to look at. That’s what this is, isn’t it?_

Preston was so worried. He’d been through so much, and built so much, and all of it hung on Sole, like a rotting support pillar holding up a skyscraper, ready to collapse any minute if something little made it give. He knew that, and he knew that Sole had turned on two of his old groups and murdered them all, in cold blood.  But he didn’t know why.  He didn’t know what else had been done.  He didn’t know details, and because of that he could keep believing in the person he used to know instead of the new one. The evidence for him was more firsthand, more real. And maybe he could believe that for a long time. She was going to try and let him.

For others, like Nick, there wasn’t much she could do. 

There was already so much lost. So much she couldn’t do anything to save. _The truth. Always find the truth, report the truth, uncover it, Piper._ Her words stung and bit into her. _You’re not a real journalist until someone’s tried to kill you. The people deserve to know. Make the world a better place Piper, don’t sell out, Piper._

 _Shut up, shut up, shut up!_ Her shoulders were shaking now. She knew, god, Piper knew it was the right decision.  Nat.  Her little sister.  She deserved a chance to live—she was only nine!  She hadn’t ever seen the ocean, or felt a clean, fresh stream running over her toes, or seen the way the world looked at night up north, away from Diamond City and the radiation in the air—up where you could really see the stars.  She deserved a future where she could become whatever she wanted, a doctor, a trader, a teacher, a farmer, an explorer, even if it meant being a reporter!  “God fucking damn it!” Piper screamed, slamming her fist into the wall and denting the drywall, drawing back her fist throbbing with pain that didn’t really register.

She—she hadn’t ever gotten to choose—really choose—what her life would be.  Nat deserved that. She deserved some kind of a life carved out for herself, by herself, before it was all over. And Connie Abernathy, and the Finch boys, and Holly from the slog, Billy, Carol—Daisy, K.L.E.O, Arturo, Ellie, Nick, Phyllis, Danny—fuck, all of them, every single one, and a thousand more like them—they all deserved a shot at life!

So, she was selling out. She was giving up. She was going to trade her life in for theirs. 

No more daring reporter, out doing what was right no matter the cost. She’d had her shot, and this time the cost was too big. She was going to smile at Sole.  She was going to look him in the eye and tell him she loved him.  Every single day, if she had to.

She was going to sleep with him.  Whenever he wanted.  Follow him, stay with him.  She was going to be exactly what he wanted her to be.  His Piper.

Not hers.

Not real.

Not real ever again after tonight.

But she hadn’t been able to just say goodbye, and die.  She had needed this.  A funeral, sort of.  For herself.  She’d asked Preston to cover for her and make sure she’d be alone tonight, because  she never knew when Sole would come back.  If he did arrive out of the blue, Preston had sworn he would find a way to keep him away from her, and she knew he would. 

She knew he didn’t understand exactly what was going on with her.  He knew she was angry and upset, and lost—like he was—but that she was going to stay with Sole. She’d told him she wanted to try and steer him back towards how he used to be.  But that was it.  The choice for him was hard enough already; she didn’t want more on his conscience.  He was going to have to make his own sacrifices. 

She knew how much this hurt him already.  He didn’t need to know more.

She closed her eyes and calmed her breathing and for a little while the only sound was the shallow breaths slowing down and evening out.

Piper stood up.  She looked around the room.  It was her house, wasn’t it?  Hers and Sole’s.  His old house, from 200 years ago, in Sanctuary Hills.  Patched up and all ready to go.  Ready for a new family.  Like the old one had never gone.  She looked at the ring on her finger.

Replaceable.

The room was furnished with Sole’s things, and hers.  Gifts he’d given her, things she’d gotten him.  His trophies, her writings.  But it was a fairly empty room.  The personal belongings were few.  Just a couple shelves of memories, a dresser, and their bed.  She laid down on the bed.  Sole’s half.  Piper looked up, and saw the crack in the roof.  The one he’d seen stars through.  Dear god.  Was she going to have to give that man a child?

_No. No way in hell. I‘m one thing, but I’m not putting this shit on a kid._

She shut her eyes tight.  She would find a way to make sure she could never give anyone children.  He wouldn’t know why.  He wouldn’t think she would do that, so it was safe.  He would think it was just unlucky.  _After all, Sole—radiation.  You never know what this Commonwealth can cause._ Yeah.  She didn’t know how to do it—she couldn’t ask a doctor to help—but she would damn well find a way.

She opened her eyes and looked at the hole again.  Shaped like a star.  The sky was so beautiful.  But so cold.  So far away.  Always out of reach.  Impossible to control, or to change.  Unthinkably different from life down here.

Slowly, Piper’s head turned and she saw the little chest Nat had made her.  It had been a gift—what—three years ago?  Nat had hammered it out of some pieces of plywood and painted it by hand.  She loved it more than anything else in the world.  It had her name on it, “Piper,” spelled right and everything—even if the r was mangled a bit.  She kept the things that meant most to her inside of it. 

Very gradually, Piper sat up and straightened, eyes still on the box.  She put her bare feet down on the ground and walked over to it, carefully picking it up and taking it back to the bed with her.  She opened it.  Inside, there were the things she’d wanted to keep safe.  A bracelet made by Nat.  An old little booklet of pressed flowers and a pencil, the only two things she had from her mother.  A photograph of her father.  It was bad.  She’d taken it with an old camera she’d repaired, but she’d overexposed it a little.  You couldn’t really see him.  But…It was like holding a tiny sliver of time—time in which he was still alive.

And then…

The letters.  From Blue.  Piper took one out and opened it slowly.  She remembered every word.  She used to reread them all the time, when he was out with Hancock or Deacon or Cait for days, and she was home alone.  Promises, thoughts.  God, what was it about words?  They could mean so much, and yet they could say enough to build entire new worlds, and still mean absolutely nothing. 

This letter.  It wasn’t even that old.  Just a few months. 

“Hey Piper, I’m going off with Hancock for a couple of days (or more—depending on just how much trouble we get into).  Sorry I wasn’t there to say goodbye in person, but there’s been a kidnapping, and time is of the essence!  Don’t worry—I’m sure it’ll all go as planned.  After all, rescuing people is my specialty.  We should know.  Do you still have that chart where we were keeping score, on Raider apparel, haircuts, and weapons?  I think I still owe you 20 caps.  Who could have guessed one of them would actually be wearing a decapitated teddy bear as a head ornament.  I still think you cheated, since you put most of that bingo board together and too many of the odd ones came true, but since I can’t prove it I’ll assume you’re on the level.  You know I love you and all that silly (or did you say “special?” when we were talking about it the other night???) stuff, but I left you something on the book shelf.  Also, you know Codsworth gets sad when I leave without stopping in to see him, so please give the old tin can a pat on the head and—I don’t know—invite him over for tea, or sharing stories.  And keep an eye on Marcy.  For some reason, I keep getting the feeling she doesn’t like us, or something?  Maybe I’m imagining it.

Also.  Know I love you.  There’s not much in this world I can say I’m sure of.  But that’s one of them.  With all this uncertainty and danger in the world, I have you.  And I couldn’t be happier.  You are the sun, the moon, and sky to me.  I’d die just to see you smile. 

But I won’t (die).  I’ll come home to you, and we’ll be together.  I know that’s a little redundant, but what more can you say about it?  We both know what together is.  It’s ours.

Much love,

Sole.”

 

Piper crumpled the letter in her fist.  She found another, where he called Deacon “my good old buddy” and the Railroad “the home team.”  Was that where he was, right now?  Murdering his “good old buddy?”  He might be.  She closed her eyes and saw their bodies as she imagined them.  They all had her father’s eyes, staring back at her.

Piper took the letters and burned them.  On the floor in her room.  She built a pyre out of things that were theirs she knew he wouldn’t miss, and lit it with a cigarette.  The paper letters, cracked and dry from use, caught fire in an instant.  As easy as striking a match.

One by one she watched them go. 

She didn’t know she was crying, until she held a letter out to the little fire and it was too damp from the tears she’d let fall onto it while reading to burn.  She cursed and crumpled it and threw it at the wall, but it stared at her, its words taunting her.  _Fuck._

Piper walked over and picked it up.  She was desperate to burn it.  Panicked.  She kept trying, and trying, but it wouldn’t light.  She dumped everything left in the box—everything from Sole—into the fire, and the letter was all that was left.  “Dear Piper.”  The letters were so dark she could see them through the back of the paper, and they were eating away at her soul.  She thrust her hand into the fire to grab it and rip it apart and her glove caught, and she recoiled—banging her head against a wall.  But when she looked down, the burning glove had finally managed to catch the letter she was holding with a death grip on fire with it.  She did nothing to stop it, then.  She just sat, and watched the words disappear in the heat, as paper turned to ash and the flames burned the flesh on her hand, and the pain as nerves in her palm melted mixed with the smell of her burning skin until finally, the very last piece of her that was tied to the old him burned away, leaving nothing but a gold ring searing its indentation into her finger forever.

 

* * *

 

 

“Piper?”

She blinked, coming back from the not so long ago she was still hiding behind gloves. Piper looked for the speaker and saw it was Ellie, looking over at her a little concerned.

“Yeah?” Piper asked, aware of her surroundings again.

“Almost there,” Hancock replied for Ellie, glancing over his shoulder at them. “But keep your guard up,” he added quietly, dropping his pace so the other two landed beside him as he said it. Ahead of them, Danny was leading the way to the elevator to the Mayor’s office. Two other guards who’d arrived as soon as they’d entered flanked them a few steps back.

Piper hadn’t seen Nat when they passed the press, and that had made her worry, and that had made her remember things she hadn’t wanted to remember. Because of that, she’d missed until just now what Ellie and Hancock hadn’t. The glances and low mutters from everyone they passed, the tension in the air—the open hostility in every look at Hancock.

Looking ahead of her, Piper could see it in his shoulders now. He was tense too.  Rigid even as he moved forward with that casual stroll of his, like a cat ready to pounce.

There were people here she didn’t recognize, but what was more worrying was that some of the ones she did were looking at her in ways she’d definitely been looked at before, but never by them. Like she was the enemy. Like there might be a fight. Like they might want to hurt her.

“Okay. I’ll have to get you all to not bring your weapons in to see the Mayor,” Danny said, stopping on the elevator platform and waiting for them to join him. He looked apologetic and as nervous about the crowd as Piper felt. He was sweating, and used his arm to wipe his brow.

“I feel like maybe we talk that one out up there by the door,” Hancock said. “I’d prefer keeping my guns and you just bringing all your guys in too.”

He was nervous. She’d never seen Hancock nervous before, not once in all the time she had been unfortunately forced to spend with him. That made her scared; she hadn’t been scared before. The tension in the air felt worse then, not like tension but something else. It was wrong. It was not like the calm before a storm broke, it was the wind and the green sky and the slow thud like wheels on train tracks that told you a tornado was on its way and it was too late to run. Just time to hide.

“I don’t think he’ll talk to you otherwise,” Danny replied, looking up as the elevator began to rise.

Piper could see him too. Mayor McDonough.  Almost a silhouette through the glass wall he was looking down at them from, but with just enough light to have the suggestion of features.

Was it just her, or…was he smiling?


End file.
